


cado in nusquam

by phantisma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2010-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:06:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair is determined to break Dean, and he'll use any means at his disposal to do it, including a certain other Winchester who spent a few years on his rack too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is maybe the darkest thing I've ever written, and those of you who have read my work know I don't say these things lightly. There is rape/non-con, dub-con, there is torture, both physical and mental. This part of this fic does not contain any real comfort. The next piece might ultimately be even darker, as it will deal with the ten years Dean spends in hell as his father's apprentice. 
> 
> Also, for those playing the home game, the title is Latin. It means "Falling into Nothing".

_Dean shivers, seeking relief even though he knows there won't be any…there never is…not until it's almost too much, not until he's sure he can't stand it, sure he'll break…then suddenly there's a small reprieve…an hour or two of silence, a moment or two with no pain…a stretch of time when he isn't being touched, fucked, slowly broken open and pulled apart._

_"You know I had your Daddy right here…on this rack…naked and chained here…just like you are now…"_

_Dean's eyes squeeze shut, because he doesn't want to hear…doesn't want to feel that hand close around his cock, doesn't want his head filled with the images of his father where he is now, enduring this…but Alistair's voice slithers into his head, the same way his hands and lips slither over his skin._

_"He begged for mercy…" His forked tongue laps at Dean's chin as he presses his body against Dean's. "He begged me to let him come…"_

_Dean screams as Alistair fucks into him, but there is no sound, none but Alistair's voice. "He was mine, just like you will be…I fucked him, bled him, made him cry, made him scream…and when I let him come…when he gave himself to me, when he asked to serve me, I licked his tears and watched the black fill his eyes as I set him free."_

Dean jerked awake, gasping for air and searching frantically around him for something, anything to tell him where he was and what was happening.

He could still feel the demon all over him, under his skin, in his blood. His heart thundered and he felt his way to the edge of his bed, retching into the dark carpeting until there was nothing left to bring up.

The room was dark and quiet. Standard shitty motel room. Sam was asleep on the next bed. The clock by the bed read 2:13am. Dean struggled to breathe, sitting up, and trying to remember.

Sweat slicked his skin as he slowly climbed to his feet. It felt like blood and he swiped at it as he stumbled across the room, into the bathroom, slamming a hand over the light switch and turning on the water in the sink, letting it run cold. He cupped his hands under the stream and splashed it up over his face, onto his shoulders and let it run down his bare chest.

He breathed slowly and pushed up, his hands on the porcelain. He jumped at the reflection the mirror showed, his eyes dark and sunken, his skin pale white and stretched thin over his bones. Red lines of wounds only recently healed marked his skin, marks of claws and blades…some already forming scars, some still scabbing over…they marked his face, his chest, his legs…Dean closed his eyes and felt them….felt his skin split open, his guts dumping to the floor, his cock hard, wanting, his mouth and ass violated.

He fell to his knees and retched again, throwing up nothing more than bile into the toilet. When the convulsions passed, Dean stood, shaking as he moved again to the sink, avoiding the mirror now as he rinsed his mouth.

He remembered hell. He remembered dying and the endless fall. He remembered the pain and torment. He didn't remember anything past it. Clearly this wasn't hell.

Somehow he'd gotten loose. Sam had found a way.

Dean shook his head, stepping back into the bedroom where Sam slept peacefully, his body splayed out over the bed, blankets pulled down to expose his long torso, one arm cast casually over his face.

It didn't feel right. Sam wouldn't be asleep if he'd just pulled Dean out of hell…unless…Dean tiptoed to the bed, touched his brother, a hand over his heart. He held his breath, afraid he'd find Sam cold, dead…but he was warm, his heart beating up at him as Sam shifted in his sleep.

"'S okay Dean…go back to sleep." Sam mumbled, pushing Dean's hand away. "You'll remember in the morning." Sam turned on his side, shutting Dean out and leaving him to stand alone in a room that was too small, and getting smaller the more he stood there.

He was free.

The air in the room was stale, stifling. It smelled of sweat and fear and old blood. Dean swallowed and rubbed his hands over his skin. It was too cold. Too close. He needed air. Needed to feel the fresh air in his lungs.

He opened the door, a balmy southern night greeted him, beckoning him like a lover, wrapping moist wind around his waist, tugging him out into the night.

The Impala sat in front of the door, shining under the single streetlight. He reached out to touch her, his hand trembling as he slid it up over her hood with reverence. "God I missed you."

He stood next to the car, breathing in the night air, the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle heavy. The silence stretched out around him, only the distant sound of the wind and the casual hum of the neon light filling the air. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, vaguely realizing he is only wearing thin, worn boxers that hang from his thin hips. He considered going back inside for pants, but the warmth of the car behind him was comforting and he tilted his head back against the roof and looked up into the dark sky. No stars or moon, no clouds…just an endless expanse of black stretched out above him.

There was a low moan. At first Dean wasn't sure he heard it, the sound slid in under the hum and breeze and rose slowly like a blush up under his skin. It was a familiar sound…intimate and it raised the hair on his arms and neck. He stood upright, turning toward it…toward the dark alley between buildings where the streetlight spilled over dirty concrete and broken glass but didn't penetrate the shadows.

He stepped on bare feet away from the car, drawn by the sound, by guttural noises and whispers. He inched through the dark, hugging the wall of the building until he could see, leaning around a corner to find the source.

Two men in the dark. One leaned against a dirty wall, tall and lean, his head tilted back into the brick, his hands lost in the dark hair of the other who knelt before him. The sounds came from the one on his knees, his mouth full of cock as he moaned, his body writhing as if the act of sucking this other man's cock were orgasmic for him too.

Dean started when he realized he was being watched. His eyes moved up to the standing man…and everything narrowed down. "Alistair."

His smile was slow, his eyes glowing in the dark. The man on his knees looked up, then slowly turned. Dean stared, stumbled though he was sure he wasn't moving.

"Dean."

He stood, casually wiping dirt and bits of glass from his knees. He took two steps toward Dean.

"Dad." Dean's chest constricted as the air was pulled from his lungs, then his father was pulling him into a tight hug. It was impossible. His father was gone. Dead. Dean had burned the body. "Dad?"

His father held him at arm's length, looking over him. "You look rough, Son."

"No. No." Dean looked over his father's shoulder to where Alistair watched them, a vague smile on his lips. He tried to step back, to go back to the car, to the room, to Sam…back to the place where he was free.

"It's okay, Dean." His father's voice was soothing, real and he wanted it to be true…he wanted to let it be okay, to let it be his father…wanted to fold up into his arms and let his father comfort away the memories of hell.

"Dad. I—" He looked at his father's face and his eyes flooded with black. Dean pulled away, almost succeeding but fingers dug deep into his shoulders, breaking skin as his father hauled him into the alley, turning until Dean was stuck between them, Alistair's hands joining his father's on his skin, holding Dean's hips tight while his father closed the space between them, his face looming over him.

Blood flowed down Dean's arms. His father leaned in, licked up Dean's arms, then offered his tongue to Alistair. Dean held his breath as they kissed over his shoulder.

"No." Dean's voice whined out of him, his knees failing. This couldn't be real…he was free…Sam freed him. His father's face was rough, brushing across Dean's face. Dean squirmed, but he was held firm between them, his father's lips bruising as they took Dean's, his tongue pushing into Dean's mouth.

"My boy." He was petting over Dean, his hands, his lips touching Dean.

"Dad." Dean's voice broke as a big hand delved inside his boxers, closed around his betraying cock, working over it while Alistair chuckled in Dean's ear.

"You won't ever escape me, boy." Alistair's voice burned against his skin as Dean's body jerked up into his father's hand.

"Be a good boy for Daddy, Dean." His father licked his lips, twisting his hand around Dean's cock until Dean was coming, yelling, but coming and falling harder against Alistair's lean body.

Dean watched his father lift his come covered hand, lick it clean, and once more leaned in to offer his tongue to Alistair. Dean started sliding, falling as they kissed, tongues wrestling as the come moved from mouth to mouth, his father moaning like a whore.

 

 

_"Shh….Dean…it's okay…it's okay."_

_Dean isn't breathing, can't make the air move. Sam's hand rubs over his chest, his body presses up against Dean's back, holding him while he whispers reassuring words. "Right here, Dean."_

_"Sam?" He forces the word out and drags air in, pulling away. Sam follows him, still whispering, still rubbing his chest._

_"Nightmares." Sam says softly._

_Dean jerks his body away from Sam, his hands rubbing over his skin…the horrible scars are gone, his skin is pale and no more marked than as if he had never…He runs for the bathroom, blinking in the sudden light. His face is normal, his eyes a little dark, the black circles under them testifying a lack of sleep, but no signs of the torture, the endless torment. He feels over his face, half expecting the scars and scabs to return if he just looks hard enough._

_Sam appears behind him, leaning on the door frame, rubbing at his eyes blearily. "They're getting worse."_

_"What?" Dean blinks, looks up at his brother in the mirror._

_"The nightmares. The closer we get, the worse they are."_

_"Nightmares?" Dean shakes his head. No. It was no dream. If anything was a dream it was this. Hell, the heat, the fire, the smell, the burn, the blades, the demons, Alistair…It was real. Very real. He knows it was real. "Closer we get?" He turns, his back to the lying face in the mirror, his hands bracing on the sink to keep him from sinking to the floor. "How?" He wants to shake Sam, wants to demand answers…but he remembers the last time he thought he'd gotten out. He remembers his father's eyes flooding with black. He remembers Alistair and the blood and the come._

_Dean squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe. "Tell me Sam, how did I get out?"_

_Sam scowls at him. "It was just a dream, Dean. We still have two days until the deadline."_

_Dean knows better. "No, Sam…no…I was…was there." His skin remembers…the feeling of blood, flesh ripping open…howls of pain that seem inhuman but he knows are coming from his mouth…Alistair laughing as he fucks Dean into oblivion. "This is just a trick…this is…him."_

_Sam reaches for him, his big hand on Dean's shoulder…the shoulder Dean knows was ruined over and over again by the meat hook Alistair used to haul him out to the rack. Dean shivers._

_"Come to bed Dean. Sleep a while. In the morning we'll see if Bobby's found anything."_

_Sam is so convinced, so positive and warm. His hand is solid. His eyes stay the same beautiful green as they look into Dean, filled with worry, fear, concern. Dean can't help but want to believe him. They still had time. Two days. It was all a dream. It was all a horrible dream._

_Dean's hands tremble as Sam slides his hand down his arm, hooking his fingers in Dean's and tugging, whispering soft words that sound like home, like what home is supposed to sound like with "come on" and "love you" and "safe" and Dean lets it lull him, lets it lead him to the one bed, all mussed and tousled from where they've laid before he woke them._

_The sheets are cool against his skin. Dean lets Sam lay him down, and Sam smiles at him, though the worry and fear is still there in his eyes. He turns off the light and slides into bed, pulls Dean to him, anchoring him there in the bed with those big hands on Dean's chest. Solid, real. Sam. It was all for Sam anyway._

_He was nothing without his brother._

_"It's okay, Dean." Sam murmurs, his breath hot on Dean's skin. His hands rub over Dean's chest. His legs brush against Dean's legs and his lips moved over the skin of his neck as he whispers._

_It's soft and comfortable…warm…_

_Dean's eyes drift closed and he lets himself relax against his brother, lets himself believe. Two days. Sam's breathing is deep and rhythmic. Dean guides one of his brother's hands to his lips, kissing it lightly. He'd never say it in front of Sam, not when Sam could hear him, not when Sam could know how terrified he is. "Love you Sammy."_

 

 

"Sam?"

The dark shifted, turned upside down and dropped him six feet to the hard, rocky ground.

"Sam?"

"Isn't that sweet? He wants his brother." Familiar voices…soon to be followed by familiar hands and familiar teeth…demons, Alistair's demons.

"No." Dean curled up tight as he could, knowing what came next. "Sam!"

Pain lanced through his shoulder, flesh ripping open, blood spurting up around him, over his face as the point of the hook emerged out of his shoulder and the first jerk made him involuntarily uncurl. His arms flailed out around him for something, anything to hold onto.

Hands, claws tore at him as he was dragged, ripping the illusion of clothes from his skin, ripping gashes into the illusion of skin until _his_ voice boomed out and scattered the minions.

Alistair squatted next to Dean in his own illusion, grinning. "Good morning Dean. Are you ready to start again?"

His hand fell possessively on Dean's cock and it was instantly hard. It was one of the first things he'd learned here. Dean controlled nothing but his own determination not to succumb, not to give in. He owned nothing but his response to the question asked of him every time this started and every time it stopped.

"Or are you ready to submit?" Alistair stroked Dean's cock lazily, looking down at him with this paternal expression, as if he cared about Dean. "Just say the word, Dean…it gets so much easier once you give in…the pleasure I can offer you…oh, Dean…you have no idea."

"Sam." Dean closed his eyes, clinging to the memory of Sam's hands, the solid feeling of his arms around Dean, holding him. Of course, it was an illusion, like so much was here.

"Your brother isn't going to save you Dean." Alistair's mouth was on his ear. "Soon, he'll be joining you."

"No." Dean thrashed, screaming as the hook in his shoulder dragged him, bones cracking, blood oozing…up onto the rack. Hands positioned him, nails digging into his skin as they turned him, lifted his arms over his head and chained them down, legs spread until his hips hurt, ankles closed up in metal restraints…so tight his feet went cold and dead.

Alistair's hand ghosted down his body, then Dean felt it rest against his flesh, on his side, just above the hip. It was warm as it sat there, unmoving, waiting…Dean held his breath…the pain would start…and it would go on forever…until he was dumped from the rack and dragged back into the dark, into the dreams, only to wake up, his skin restored, the illusion of his body perfect so they could begin again.

Fingers pressed into his skin, pressure…then the sharp bite as the skin gave way, the warm flush as blood rushed there and out of him, filling the air with that coppery smell. His long fingers pushed into Dean, until his hand was inside, grabbing, pulling.

Dean's hands fisted and released in the chains, his voice lost in the roar of voices and screams as all around them other souls lay on other racks, their flesh ripped open, their throats torn and bloody, their bodies violated in the most obscene ways.

Knives or nails or razors carved skin from his back, peeling him open, exposing his spine, his organs.

"Sam." Dean closed his eyes and tried to picture his brother. This was for him. He was here so that Sam could be free, could live out his life. Sam's face wobbled in his mind as something invaded him…a hand moving up his ass to meet the one reaching down from inside his back. "Sam."

"It can all be over." Dean lost Sam in the haze of pain and darkness. "I can show you how good it feels, Dean…show you what it feels like to orgasm from the taste of blood and fear." Alistair's voice was alive inside him, burning away the memories of anything outside hell…Sam shriveled up and fell to ash. "All you have to do is submit. Step down off the rack, pick up the knife…so simple, so easy…"

"Please." Dean whispered the word, feeling it scrape out of his throat and into the fetid air.

Alistair leaned in, his breath putrid, his bloody hand fisting in Dean's hair to pull his head up. "What is that, boy?"

"Please." He couldn't stop himself. Tears burned against his skin. "Please."

"Please what, Dean?" Alistair asked, the words dripping with false concern.

Dean wanted to shake his head, wanted to pull away, wanted to offer up some defiance, but his will was fading, his bravado burned and stripped away. "Sam." It was little more than a whisper.

Alistair's smile was frightening. "You want Sam? You want your brother?"

A hand circled around his cock, yanking hard. Dean's body convulsed and he screamed, "Sam!"

 

 

_Fire._

_He can taste sweet, cool air, but only behind the acrid bite of the smoke._

_He's laying down, on a pyre…burning._

_Just like they burned their father. Dean sits up fast, pulling at the confining wrappings that he knows are soaked in lighter fluid and laced with salt. A proper Winchester send off…He has to let Sam know he's there…that he isn't dead._

_"Sam!"_

_Dean manages to free one hand and tears at the fabric around his face. The fire surrounds him, flames already licking to the top of the pyre._

_"Sam!"_

_He can't see past the flames, the red heat making everything beyond it black. He struggles, pulling away as the fire reaches for him, throwing himself off the stacked wood, rolling into the dirt to put out the flames._

_"Sam!"_

_It seems to take forever to get out of the shroud, and when he does he discovers he's naked, but he's out…somehow…he only remembers screaming Sam's name over and over…only recalls falling and falling and then suddenly waking up here in the fire._

_"Sam!"_

_He figures since he was burning, he must have died before Sam found a way…but then why would Sam burn his body?_

_"Sam!"_

_Shadows up ahead of him move, voices soft on the night breeze. Dean fights through the dark, stopping when the Impala's headlights light up a clearing and there, in the glare, is Sam, half way to naked himself._

_The other shadow turns, a smile breaking over his face. "Dad?"_

_Dean is confused. Their father was dead. Why was he here? Why was his hand on Sam's bare hip? Why was he pulling Sam in and kissing him?_

_Dean shakes his head to quell the buzzing and dizzying questions. "What?"_

_Sam holds out his hand, and Dean moves to him, like he can't not go to Sam when he calls for him. Sam's mouth is hot and tastes like smoke as he kisses Dean. "Sam?" He's breathless and uncertain…dreaming…he must be dreaming._

_"I told you he'd come." Sam says softly. His hands curl around Dean's hip possessively, guiding him between Sam and his father. Lips press to his, a tongue sliding over them until he opens his mouth, distracted by the scruff of his father's beard on his neck as his lips touch Dean's skin too._

_"Sam?"_

_"Shh…Dean." Sam kisses his eyes closed. His father's hands slide over his skin, pull him back against his naked chest, and Dean can feel that his chest isn't all that's naked._

_"Dean." His father's voice is deep, comforting and it lulls him. "My boy. My good soldier. You take care of your brother."_

_"Yes sir." Dean murmurs reflexively, not even realizing his father is guiding him to his knees. John's finger pushes into Dean's mouth, opening it as Sam steps closer._

_"Take your brother."_

_Dean pulls back as Sam's cock touches his lip, but his head only goes as far as his father's cock. "Anything for me Dean, right?" Sam asks as he flexes his hips, his cock sliding into Dean's open mouth alongside their father's finger._

_Dean gags, but doesn't fight…can't hurt Sam. Bodies close around him as they kiss above him. This can't be real…Dean tries to remember…but there's nothing…just the falling, falling…dying…burning…_

_"That's good Dean." Sam murmurs as they pull apart. His long fingers stroke the side of Dean's face. "I knew you'd come for me…knew you'd give yourself, sacrifice yourself…it's what you do…"_

_His father's hands were on his hips, pulling back, dropping Dean forward so that his neck stretched and his head fell back to keep his mouth open for his brother. Dean recognizes too late why, whimpering around the cock in his mouth as John penetrates his ass with two fingers._

_"I trained you for this Dean." John says now, his fingers withdrawing as he positions himself for the long, slow fuck into his son's body. His fingers strum down Dean's spine. "This is who you are…where you belong…nothing without us…nothing…"_

_"Pretty though." Sam whispers, his fingers still petting along Dean's face._

_Their words are soft, stinging along the tears that slip from his eyes. Nothing…anything for Sam, take care of Sam, obey Dad…give himself to the cause, to the fight, bleed, break, die…They kiss each other, but they fuck him…and he takes it…always takes it because he is nothing without them._

_His vision narrows down to a spot between Sam's navel and his cock. He hears them whisper, feels their cocks, their hands…feels them…and he knows they're right, knows this is who he is…_

_Sam comes with a low moan, filling his mouth with heat and his father isn't far behind. They pull away, leave him on the ground, cold, alone. Footsteps take them away._

_"Sam? Dad?" Dean reaches out…afraid of the dark, of being alone. Sam squats beside him, brushes a hand over his face, gentle…his smile soft._

_"It's okay Dean. We'll come back when we need you."_

_"I need you, Sam." Dean's fingers scramble at his skin, trying to find something to hold on to. "Don't leave me alone."_

_His father is there now too, his smile just as tender. "You've always been alone, Son. All alone until we need you."_

_Dean feels the tears, feels the truth of his words and drops his eyes. "I don't want to be alone."_

_His father's fingers grasp his chin, tug and pull until he looks up. "You know how to make that happen." John's eyes flood with inky black. Dean starts, but can't pull away._

_"Let go, Dean." Sam says. Dean looks at him, watching in horror as his eyes also go dark._

_"No…"_

_Sam's smile seems out of place under those black eyes. "All your sacrifice, Dean…and what was it worth? Look at me…I'm everything you died to stop…you died for nothing Dean."_

 

 

Hell hounds aren't gentle, not that Dean had expected them to be. They dragged him out of his skin, chewed through sinew and bone to drop him into the abyss…and he fell.

He fell forever, but it wasn't an easy descent. Rocks and glass scraped and cut as he went, tearing at the tender parts that the skin usually kept safe. Fire caressed him as he tossed and turned and fell…fell…fell…

All thought left him, all ability to think or move or breathe or feel was gone as the falling stopped and he slammed into the chaos. He blinked, his mouth open as slowly the pain started to register…broken bones, nerves cut open, raw flesh. His fingers scrabbled against nothing, trying to feel something beyond the screaming, raging fire of his blood covering him.

He almost didn't feel the first hook, through his side, yanking him until the mutilated flesh gave way. The second ate through bone as it claimed his shoulder, his arm dangling away uselessly.

A groan gurgled up out of his throat, spilling blood over his lips as he was pulled, dragged and once more he was falling, jerking on the end of the hook before he was dropped.

His body crumpled, useless, lifeless. There were two feet there…a person. Dean forced himself to look. "Hello Dean. My name is Alistair. You and I will be spending some quality time together."

 

 

_He thinks maybe he's going crazy, maybe that's what hell really is._

_His body isn't a body, it's just an illusion…one they fuck with, fuck over, fuck into…they tear, rip, cut, they eat him, tiny mouths biting into him…and perversely it makes him hard…makes his cock swell with need._

_He never comes though…they use him, they masturbate them until he's begging, pleading for relief…but Alistair reminds him that this is hell…and if he wants relief, Dean needs to mean it, needs to succumb, give in, submit._

_Dean clings to himself, to his denial, clings to a sliver of memory…stubborn, even as he's given to a swirling mass of demons to be fucked repeatedly, bruised, battered, raped, cut open and left a quivering pile of nothing covered in blood and reeking of sulfur and sex._

_Gentle hands touch him, wiping the muck from him and leaving only clean, pure skin in their wake. Dean rolls to his back, opens his eyes._

_John Winchester smiles at him softly. "Shh…let me…" Tenderly he cleans Dean until he can no longer feel the wounds, the blood gone. John helps him sit, lifts him, carries him to a soft bed. "Easy, Dean."_

_They lay together in the softness, his father's body curled around his protectively. "How much more can you take?" His father's voice is small, hurt. "I hate watching you go through this."_

_Dean holds his father's hand to his chest, reveling in how safe it feels, though that too is an illusion. "What else can I do?"_

_His father kisses over his shoulders and sighs. "I held out Dean…for years…I fought like you are now…endured the unthinkable."_

_Dean can feel his father's arousal against his ass. His mouth was close to Dean's ear. "No one survives, Dean. No one outlasts him. Even now he owns you, like he owns me. He can make it hurt in ways you can't imagine, or he can make it feel so very good."_

_John shifts, rolling them enough that his cock slipped into Dean and Dean is partly on his stomach. His father's hand slips over his hip, circling around his cock. "You've never felt the kind of orgasm that comes when you surrender Dean."_

_He rocks them together. "Surrender…he'll give you to me, Dean…we can be together…we can have this…" His hand strokes Dean while his words sooth him._

_Dean closes his eyes and lets the feeling build, need, arousal, craving for this…for the respite, for the reward. "Please…Dad…"_

_"Come to me Dean. Come to me."_

 

 

"Please…" Blood dripped from his lips as he pulled himself to his knees, reaching out to them.

Alistair turned, his fist in John's hair, pulling him off Alistair's cock and they both turned to look at Dean. "Please…"

But he couldn't make the words come. No more…he couldn't take any more. He dragged his reaching hand back to hold the intestines spilling out of him. "Please…"

"Please?" Alistair stopped in front of him, his cock right in Dean's face. John slid to his knees, his hands cupping to Dean's face.

"You have to say the words, boy."

Dean tried to focus his eyes on his father's face, tried to force the words out of him, shame and fear and agony warring inside him until he could barely form thought. "No more."

John's smile started small, but grew. He nodded encouragement.

"Please, no more." Dean's face burned with his shame. "I…I'll…do whatever you want."

Alistair raised an eyebrow as he considered Dean's words, then he offered his cock to Dean. It wasn't forced, it was just there, waiting. Dean looked to his father, then back at Alistair. Slowly, he licked his lips, opened his mouth.

Alistair's laughter echoed around them. John's hand reached under Dean, rubbing at his cock, his breathe hot on Dean's skin. Alistair's come was bitter with sulfur, filling Dean's mouth and forcing him to swallow, the heat of it pooling in his stomach and making his cock harder. Alistair's hand in his hair pulled his head back. "Come for me, Dean. Make yourself mine."

His whole being quivered as it started, fire in his blood, in his stomach, exploding out of him, out of his cock, into his father's hand. Dean collapsed to the ground as it ended and John stood, holding up his come filled hand to Alistair who licked and sucked his fingers clean.

"He's all yours, boy. Don't disappoint me."

Alistair snapped his fingers as he disappeared and Dean's body was whole again. His father turned to him, eyes flooding black. His smile was evil as he squatted beside Dean.

"Well then. Let's get started."


	2. cado in nusquam (haud sileo pro scelestus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gave in, gave up, but he isn't promised freedom, only the addition of pleasure to the pain.

_**"He's all yours, boy. Don't disappoint me."** _

_**Alistair snapped his fingers as he disappeared and Dean's body was whole again. His father turned to him, eyes flooding black. His smile was evil as he squatted beside Dean.** _

_**"Well then. Let's get started."** _

_No rest for the wicked._

_The thought echoes around in his head as he is dragged through fire and ash, from one bloody scene to another. His father holds out the weapon and Dean takes it wearily, blinking as minions dragged the poor soul up onto the rack the same way they had done to him so many times._

_The man screams almost non-stop, thrashing about as if it might change the fact that he is in hell, that he is doomed to repeat this over and over until he breaks._

_Dean looks down at the meat hook in his hand. It is still dripping blood from the last victim, some woman that he'd watched his father fuck before it was Dean's turn. When they'd pulled him away, she was still screaming, her heart beating and pumping blood out of her onto the ground._

_This man's skin is pristine, pale, smooth. Dean steps in as the minions scatter, their job done in. He can feel the sticky heat of his father behind him, on his skin._

_"Please…help me…"_

_Dean wonders for a moment if he had sounded so scared, so terribly frail and alone and small. This man's eyes are blue. Or they were. The body is nothing but an illusion, a means to cause pain to a soul already lost, even if it hasn't figured that out yet. He steps even closer and the ramble of words and noises quiets as Dean lets the hand not holding the meat hook glide over the man's skin, painting it with sticky red. "Shh…" Dean slides the hand up to the man's lips, letting the red cover them like make up. "Shh…What's your name?"_

_His eyes dart, from Dean to John and back, his body shudders and he knows the pain is coming, knows the wracked voice that tries to sooth him is only hours from its own screaming, knows that Dean will rip this illusion into shreds, but he stills, swallows, focuses on Dean as if somehow, some way Dean might save him, free him._

_"R-roger."_

_Dean nods. "Roger." He tests the name in his mouth. It feels strange, meaningless. He may have been Roger once, before he came to be here, but now he is just another soul in hell, whether he sold himself or lost himself it doesn't matter._

_"Roger, I'm not going to play games with you. I'm going to hurt you." Dean holds up the hook, looking at it until he feels Roger's eyes leave his and focus on the hook. "With this." Dean looks back at Roger. "I'm going to use it to pull the skin off your bones, rupture your organs, I may use it to fuck your ass. When I am done there will be nothing left of you but your voice and the illusion that you have a body, one that has been shredded and fucked." Dean leans in close. "And then, he'll make the illusion whole again and someone else will start over."_

_Dean brings the point of the hook down onto Roger's chest, traces it around his nipple. He smiles when Roger hisses and his cock fills. "You're going to like this, Roger."_

_He presses in, down, the point of the hook breaking skin just under his right nipple. Dean concentrates, drags it down, not too deep, not yet. Blood wells up, spills. He cuts down to the navel while Roger screams._

_Behind him, John's closing in, the illusion of his body pressing against Dean's. It makes the air that much hotter, as if the oppressive heat of eternal damnation isn't enough. Dean's illusion of a body responds, his cock hardening, his heart beating faster. Hands ease over his naked skin, lips traverse over his spine, up onto his neck._

_"Feels good."_

_Dean can only nod in agreement, lifting the hook to draw another bloody line over the pale, white skin. Roger screams, shaking. John reaches around Dean, his hands grasping the flaps of skin and yanking Roger open. His hands are all the hotter when they return to Dean's skin, flushed with the illusion of blood._

_Roger screams endlessly and the sound is wearing on Dean's ability to concentrate. He lifts the hook, dripping blood and gore and when Roger's mouth opens again, Dean shoves the hook in, digging it into his tongue and yanking._

_The scream grows louder, then falls away into a gurgle as the tongue rips loose and Dean drops it to the side, cocking his head to look at the bloody mess before him._

_"Not bad." John says, his mouth against the back of Dean's neck. "You're learning."_

 

There are times when Dean told himself that this was not John Winchester…that this was nothing more than a demon masquerading, that he was an illusion, like so much else in this place.

The cruelty in him gave Dean pause. His father was never that cruel, never that callous and cold. His father, for all of his faults, was a good man. A strong hunter. A hunter who would just as soon kill this bastard as look at him.

But then, Dean supposed, that hunter would kill him too. He wasn't all that different now from the demon wearing the face of John Winchester. He wore an illusion like his former body. He used that illusion to torment others. He raped them. He tore them apart. 

Dean reasoned that the step from what he was now to actually being a demon wasn't all that far. Time was strange here, worse than before. When he was being dragged to the rack he had the illusion of days. A new one began each time he was hauled from his nightmares onto the rack and Alistair would ask him if he was ready to give in. Now it all just blurred together, no day, no night, just an endless round of torture, torment, fucking, serving, torture until Dean didn't really think he could tell his victims apart anymore.

This son of a bitch who wore his father's face, his father's body, was sadistic, a trait he seemed to share with those around them. Dean watched him bully the others, watched him carve some miserable soul to shreds, all the while whispering sweet words in her ear, about her lover, her father, the little sister she left behind.

Sometimes his father would pull them into some illusion…a soft bed, candlelight, wine and roses and soft lovemaking. He said it fucked with their head better, made them see him as a savior of sorts so that when he started cutting on them it made the betrayal sweeter.

It wasn't all that different from this illusion where Dean knelt. There was no need of sleep or food here, though he was a kind of tired he'd never known, but sometimes they got a rest anyway…and they would do it here. It looked like any number of places he'd known in life, a small apartment, a motel room. There was a bed and a kitchen table, a stove and the pretense of life. 

John dropped him on the floor as they entered, as the illusion closed in around him and went about being normal…whatever that equated to. Today he was making them dinner, talking at Dean as though nothing had changed.

Slowly, Dean dragged himself to the chair, and as he sat, as he accepted the illusion, he was dressed…jeans, dark gray-t-shirt, button down…it was all real-feeling, all normal, right down to the ring on his right hand, the rolled leather bracelet on his wrist, the work boots on his feet. It felt like home, even though he knew it wasn't.

"Heard about your brother." John said as he dropped a bowl of soup in front of Dean and took his seat. "He met a girl."

Sam. The name came to him slowly, rising up from inside him. Sam. It seemed that ages had passed since he last thought of his brother. He looked up at his father, dropping deeper into the illusion. "Sam's got a girl?"

John's eyes met his, flooded with black. "Well, maybe she's got him."

Dean worked hard at not reacting. Reacting always led to bad. Usually to blood and screaming and other things he didn't want to think about. Instead he lifted a spoonful of the soup. "Are you saying she's a demon?"

"That's what I hear…but you know how rumors are." His eyes went back to their normal brown and he too lifted his spoon.

It was weird. This sitting and pretending things were normal, were real. It was worse than when they just fucked and got it over with. "Whatever. Sam seems to have a soft spot for them."

Ruby. It popped into his head. That's who Sam was with. Ruby, who had somehow survived this, somehow kept part of herself in this pit.

A big hand crashed across his face. "That kind of thinking isn't going to get you anywhere. Dean didn't look up, just nodded, his attention firmly on the table in front of him.

"Problems with your boy?"

Dean's entire body, illusion though it was, tightened at the sound of that voice, drawing in, away from the damage Alistair could do with a look. "Nothing I can't handle."

Alistair was close, less in a physical way than in a non-corporeal sense, Dean could feel him on his skin, making it hard to breathe, to think. "Maybe I'll handle him."

The illusion of clothes were gone, even as Alistair lifted him from the chair. "Tired of your daddy already, Dean? He's one hot fuck. Wanna watch?"

Alistair threw him in the direction of the bed, Dean skidding on the ground, not surprised to find himself positioned on his knees and restrained before Alistair had even turned to John. 

John's face was a terrifying smile, arousal and defiance, lust and submission all mixed together as Alistair beckoned him with a hand, and just like Dean, John was naked before Alistair tossed him to the bed.

There was no prep, no niceties. John struggled, but it was mostly for show and position, not because he didn't want what Alistair was about to give him. Then John was on his stomach and Alistair was fucking him hard.

John's hands fisted in the blankets, his face turned to Dean as they moved violently against one another. His eyes rolled back in obvious pleasure. Dean can't help but watch, mesmerized by the pleasure/pain/pleasure, by the way his father's voice grunted and growled, groaned and grated, by the way Alistair's body beat his father's down.

There was a feeling like all hell was watching as Alistair fucked him for what seemed hours, until John had stopped writhing, had given up, caved under, his come painting the bed under him, his face a sated out mask of exhaustion.

Alistair laughed, his eyes falling on Dean. "Such a slut he is for me, Dean…loves it when I fuck him down. Won't be worth anything for hours now…which leaves me with you."

Dean swallowed and pulled against the restraints holding him, but Alistair just grinned lazily at him, pulling his hard, thick cock out of John's ass and moving toward Dean. It was slicked with blood and Dean knew he was meant to lick it clean, but he pulled back instead of opening his mouth.

"You still hold on to something." Alistair's hand petted over Dean's head, then tightened in his hair and forced his face forward. "Can't you see how much more you'll enjoy me when you let go of who you were, Dean? Look how happy he is." Alistair looked at John, then back at Dean. "Pleasure is easy Dean. Close your eyes."

Dean did, closed his eyes, breathing in to steady himself. Let go. He meant forget. Forget the past. Forget who he was. And embrace this. Embrace evil…embrace the role Alistair wanted him to play.

His cock pushed in past Dean's lips, into him, deeper than it should be able. Dean relaxed into it, let the pain carry him past the fear, his cock aching as Alistair held his head and fucked into him. Let go. Just let go.

Dean's eyes flashed to his father, to the sated expression, the utter release. Let go. He closed his eyes again and gave in…just a little more.

Pleasure radiated off Alistair as he sensed the shift, pleasure that found its way into Dean, under his skin, like something alive. He heard a moan, not unlike his father's, startled to realize it had come from him.

Alistair's hand petted over his face as he quickened his pace, then pulled out, dumping come over Dean's face and Dean groaned as his own cock dumped onto the floor. "See Dean? See what I can give you?"

 

_He's lost count of the souls, the endless parade of them, the ways he's hurt them, words and knives, whips, cat o'nine tails made of the bones of sinners and demons, nails and teeth. He's fucked them with his own cock, with his hand, with their own cocks, their own hands. He's perpetually covered in their blood, their gore._

_It's grown numbing as his father pulls him to the next. He's tall, this one and something about him reminds him of someone…he's all legs and arms and shaggy brown hair…and he fights as he's dragged to the rack, but he doesn't scream, doesn't yell._

_His father holds him back, holds him against a strong body to watch as they strap him down. "He looks like your brother."_

_Dean makes the connection slowly, surprised he hadn't before. "Sam."_

_His father nods, stubble scraping over Dean's skin. "Your brother who let you die."_

_That doesn't seem right, but Dean can't place why. "Your brother who was always jealous of you…hated you…he let you die."_

_"No…he…" But Dean can't finish the thought…it slips away as anger uncoils low in his gut._

_"He left you. Ran away after you gave him everything." John's voice is deep, eating into Dean, slithering around the anger, the vile, disgusting hatred in the words twisting inside him. "He went to **her**. Wanted nothing to do with you after you spent all those years keeping him safe."_

_John's hands rake over Dean's skin as they move a little closer to the rack. This isn't Sam, he can see that now…this is someone who looked enough like Sam he has to look close to see the differences._

_"He used you…dragged you on his vendetta when all you wanted was to have your family back together…he knew you'd do anything he wanted and he let you…let you save him over and over again…let him use you, put you down…never smart enough, never good enough…never let you in…he held you at arm's length…and when you sold yourself for him…" His hand circles Dean's cock, pulling hard and dry down its length. "He died Dean…he left you again…left you alone because he couldn't embrace who he really is…he was weak, Dean…he was weak and he died and you sold yourself to save him….sacrificed everything you've ever been…"_

_Dean's lips curl in snarl as they reach the rack, reach the broad expanse of bare skin. The cat o'nine tails in his hand is heavy. "He didn't save you…didn't even try…he let you go…he let you go to hell, Dean."_

_Dean hears himself growling, anger spilling through his veins, blinding him to anything but this Sam in front of him and he brings the punishing tool down over and over, ripping the back into shreds as the man whimpers, shakes and finally loses the battle to keep from yelling._

_Dean switches to a blade, a long handled knife, deepening wounds left by the tongues of the cat o'nine tails, cutting away pieces of skin. He drags the tip of the blade up the man's ass crack, catching on the hole and cutting to let blood flow. "He's the reason you're here….he's the reason you've been beaten and raped…he's the reason, Dean…he's up there cavorting with some girl while you're here…he isn't trying to get you back…he put you in a box and forgot you."_

_John's hand is on his cock, guiding him to the bloody ass. "Fuck him Dean…fuck your brother for what he's done to you. Show him your hatred."_

_Dean screams as he shoves himself into the man, as John shoves himself into Dean…screams and screams and screams, drowning out the man's own whimpering cries for mercy with something that might have been his brother's name, fury and despair roaring out of him as he comes._

 

No rest for the wicked. 

Dean collapsed exhaustedly under his father, closing his eyes as the weight of the bigger man, bigger illusion, fell against him, heaving and panting as if these were physical bodies and the need for air was real.

The bed was wet with sweat and come, his illusion-body slicked with it, making him feel dirty and used. A big hand petted over him and whiskered lips smiled against his skin. 

He didn't think about how far he'd fallen or how much further he had to go. Didn't think about the souls they gave him to torment, didn't think about the bodies they gave him to fuck, or the ones they wore to fuck him. He couldn't think because the guilt was gnawing in his stomach, the anguish eating him alive. He could only focus on each moment. One tiny stretch of eternity at a time.

His father's illusion-body was curled around his, holding him close. It would be comforting, maybe should be, but it isn't.

Whispers filled the air and Dean lifted his head. Usually when they were playing in the illusion of a real life the rest of hell left them alone. Rushing voices, like water running over boulders, grew louder and even his father sat up, looking around them. 

Hands closed around Dean's shoulders, not unlike Alistair's, only there was no one there. 

"No!" His father's hands were on his hips, digging into his skin. For a moment there was a tug of war, one set of hands pulling him up, another yanking him down, then there was dark and flames licking at his heels and the sense of rising. Something like a voice but he couldn't understand.

Pain lanced through him, his illusion-body falling away into nothing and he was nothing…nothing held in the grip of nothing. Pulled, dragged, hauled and then the black gave way to white, light that was too much…too much and there was no where to hide, it burned through him, through his nothing and he got a sense of being judged, being scrutinized. 

There was a clap of thunder and everything vanished. He landed with a thud that rocked the ground. Everything hurt. Everything hurt. Dean gasped in air. His hands shot out to his sides, slamming into wood. He blinked in the dark, slowly realizing it was more than the after shock of all that light. He was…someplace that was dark.

He was…He shook his head. It wasn't possible. It was probably another one of Alistair's tricks. He'd done it before. Made him believe he was out, that Sam had gotten him free from hell.

Dean breathed slowly, smelling damp earth and soft pine. It was quiet. Close. He was closed in a small space. He was dressed. He was alone. All alone. 

No Sam. No Dad. No Alistair. Just silence and his breathing. Actually breathing. It felt real. Still, he doesn't want to believe it. He fumbled for a pocket, found a lighter.

It let him see his prison. A box, simple and plain, nothing fancy, easy to break into. 

Or out of.

It can't be true. Can't be.

But that won't stop him from hitting at the wood, spitting out the dirt as it cascaded into his mouth. Won't stop him from fighting his way up, won't stop him from crawling out of his grave or laying on the brown grass gasping in the sweetest, freshest air he had ever known.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean got out of hell, but still isn't sure what is real and what isn't. This is largely a re-write of episode 4X01 "Lazurus Rising"...and what Dean's dealing with after the first two parts of this story.

_Pain lances through him, his illusion-body falling away into nothing and he is nothing…nothing held in the grip of nothing. Pulled, dragged, hauled and then the black gives way to white, light that is too much…too much and there is no where to hide, it burns through him, through his nothing and he gets a sense of being judged, being scrutinized._

_There's a clap of thunder and everything vanishes. He lands with a thud that rocks the ground. Everything hurts. Everything hurts._

_Dean gasps in air. His hands shoot out to his sides, slamming into wood. He blinks in the dark, slowly realizing it's more than the after shock of all that light. He is…someplace that is dark._

_He is…He shakes his head. It isn't possible. It's probably another one of Alistair's tricks. He'd done it before. Made Dean believe he was out, that Sam had gotten him free from hell._

_Dean breathes slowly, smelling damp earth and soft pine. It's quiet. Close. He is closed in a small space. He is dressed. He is alone. All alone._

_No Sam. No Dad. No Alistair. Just silence and his breathing. Actually breathing. It's different somehow than before. It feels real. Still, he doesn't want to believe it. He fumbles for a pocket, finds a lighter…his lighter._

_It lets him see his prison. A box, simple and plain, nothing fancy, easy to break into._

_Or out of._

_It can't be true. Can't be._

_But that won't stop him from hitting at the wood, spitting out the dirt as it cascades into his mouth. Won't stop him from fighting his way up, won't stop him from crawling out of his grave or laying on the brown grass gasping in the sweetest, freshest air he has ever known._

_His hands hurt, scrapped raw._

_The sky above is blue, stray clouds drifting, the sun blinding, but he can't close his eyes, can't risk it fading away, needs to see it all…before Alistair rips it all away._

 

He half expected Alistair or his father to be somewhere down the road. Or for Sam to be there. But he's alone. Very, very alone as he trudges down the one lane, back country road. He has no idea where he is, or if it's even real.

Everything feels different than it had those times before. His body feels…real, solid…not like the illusion. He hurts, but it's different too than the pain he felt on the rack…it doesn't go as deep, it lives in his skin, in his bones, doesn't go all the way down to his soul. 

He had nearly convinced himself when he found the gas station. Although he was beginning to wonder if he'd maybe come back to an empty world because he'd been walking for hours and not seen a soul and it was the middle of the day and the gas station was empty.

Maybe it should have given him pause, but it didn't. He broke open a window and made straight for the bottles of water. Cold. It poured down his parched, raw throat and if he wasn't convinced before that moment, he certainly took a step toward closer to believing he actually was out of hell.

Though how and why were thoughts he couldn't begin to think about. He had to find Sam, make sure…because the last Dean knew, he was alone in a room with Lilith…and Dean didn't trust anything they told him about Sam…and if he was dead…if she had turned him, well…Dean had learned a few things in hell and Lilith was in for a surprise or two.

Dean closed his eyes, leaning against the bathroom sink as that thought brought it back, blood and pain and screaming…he turned, throwing up into the toilet, though all he had in his stomach was water. Turning back to the sink, he splashed water over his face, drying it on his shirt. For all the pain and suffering, for all the aches and pains, he wasn't _hurt_.

He pulled up his t-shirt, expecting his chest and stomach to be torn, scarred at the very least, but his skin is smooth…not a mark on it other than the tattoo above his left nipple.

It gave him pause, the thought taunting him that this was just another dream, a delusion, another sign that he was breaking beyond repair. He smoothed the shirt down and examined his face in the mirror. Even there, the tiny marks left by a hard lived life were gone, the scar just under his hairline, the tiny one near his left ear.

It's almost as if his body had been reborn. Almost. The aches and pains had started to recede, all but a stinging sensation on his left shoulder. Turning to the mirror, Dean lifted his sleeve, wincing as he revealed the raised red hand print on his skin. It was raw, tender.

He touched it, and the memory filled his mind. Memory of pain and nothingness, memory of being yanked, pulled, judged. He flushed with shame and dropped the sleeve. Judged…He shook his head. Whatever it was that yanked him out…it clearly had some serious mojo and it wanted Dean for something.

Panic seized him when the electronics started going crazy. He grabbed a canister of salt off the shelf and started working on the window in the door, but anything that could pull him out of hell wasn't likely to be stopped by a line of table salt.

The sound was deafening, high pitched and Dean dropped the salt to grab his ears, then cover his face as the glass started to break. He imagined Alistair coming for him…imagined his father, the fury in his voice when Dean was pulled away from him. 

Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. Shattered glass covered the floor and Dean's body. He picked himself up, brushing bits of glass off of him and looked around cautiously. As far as he could tell, he was alone.

He huffed and grabbed his bag of stolen goods from the counter. He had to find Sam.

He wasn't surprised when Sam's cell phone was disconnected. If everything was good, he'd be covering his tracks. So Dean tried the number that was never disconnected. 

It only rang once, then Bobby's voice filled his ear. "Yeah?"

He almost couldn't speak, because Bobby had never been a part of the delusions. This was really Bobby, this was real. "Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"It's me." Dean fidgets a little. Bobby won't believe him.

"Who's “me”?"

"Dean." The dial toned sounded as Bobby hung up on him. Dean sighed and pulled out another quarter. He hesitated for a second, then dropped the quarter and dialed again.

"Who is this?"

Dean took a deep breath. "Bobby, listen to me."

"This ain't funny. Call again, I'll kill ya."

The click had the sound of finality to it…but Dean wasn't finished. He'd just have to prove it to Bobby. 

 

_It comes at him randomly, as he drives a stolen car across a state line, as he stops for gas, as he pulls through a drive through…faces, screams…bloody memory so real he can feel it in his gut…the hooks and chains, whips, claws…rape, torture…it leaves him gasping, clenching the steering wheel, sweat in his eyes._

_Sometimes it's his face on the victim, sometimes it's Sam's. Sometimes it's a random string of faces that he knows aren't real, and his hand wielding the blade._

_He pulls over a few miles from Bobby's house, gets out of the car, sucking air into his lungs, reminding himself he's free, he's out…it's over._

_Only a part of him knows it won't ever be over. He won't ever be free._

Dean pulled in and parked, looking at the familiar house with trepidation. How many times had he come here seeking Bobby's help, shelter, knowledge, even just a place to crash and recover from whatever job-gone-bad had beat him half to hell.

Bobby'd been a second father while John Winchester was alive, a voice of reason in the crazy world their father dragged them through, and after…Dean couldn't think of that day, the way his father had touched him gently, whispered to him the secrets about Sam…not without remembering his father in hell, not without feeling his hands, his cock.

Dean beat the memory away and stood, breathing deep and heading for the door. Bobby just needed to see him, know he wasn't some sick fuck making prank calls. Dean just needed to prove it was really him. At least he thought he was really himself…and right at that moment, that was really all he had to work with.

He should have known it wouldn't be that easy. The door opened, Bobby's face staring at him. "Surprise."

Bobby took a few steps back. "I…I don't…"

Dean nodded and took a hesitant step over the door. That should go part way to convincing him. Dean knows Bobby is no slacker with the basic protection shit. "Yeah, me either…but here I am…"

He anticipated the attack, but it still stings at least until he realizes he'd do the same. He blocked the knife, twisted away. "Bobby, it's me."

"My ass!" 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait! Your name is Robert Steven Singer. You became a hunter after your wife got possessed, and... you're about the closest thing I have to a father. Bobby. It's me."

Bobby didn't look convinced, though he lowered the blade, his free hand reaching out to Dean's shoulder. He wasn't done though, and the blade nearly connected before Dean got it away from the older man. "Fuck, Bobby. I am not a shapeshifter."

Bobby backed away, fear and disgust on his face. "Then you're a Revenant."

He should have known it wouldn't be easy. Fine. He knew one way to convince him. He held up the knife. " All right. If I was either, could I do this – with a silver knife?"

He sliced neatly into his arm, watching the blood flow down his arm. His stomach twitched, bloody body parts filling his brain. He pushed them away and looked up at Bobby who's face had softened. "Dean?"

Dean nodded. "That's what I've been trying to tell you."

 

_It's harder than he imagined, talking to Bobby. They bandage the wound, but Dean keeps touching it, pressing against it to feel the sting. Some part of him is functioning, talking, looking for Sam, but there's a part of him that can't seem to think past the pain, past the pleasure of the pain._

_There's no reason Dean is free…none but that Sam made a deal and he and Bobby are on the road to where Sam is with that knowledge burning in his stomach…and whatever mother-fucking demon Sam found with the power to bust him loose is stronger than Lilith, and Dean keeps seeing Sam on that rack, Sam's gut ripped open, his mouth stuffed with demon cock, his body broken, his eyes flooding with black…_

_He shakes himself out of the image and Bobby looks at him strange, but doesn't ask. It's easy to lie, to tell Bobby he doesn't remember…because he doesn't want to, and if he lies long enough, maybe he'll forget._

_Only then there's a girl and Dean remembers his father talking about Sam with some demon girl, but she looks confused and her eyes don't flash all black and she leaves so he lets it go._

 

If he thought talking to Bobby was hard, it was nothing compared to Sam. Once they convinced him Dean was real, despite the relief, despite the joy at seeing each other again, everything was strained.

Dean couldn't look at him without seeing the Sam in his delusions…the one who fucked him and left him, the one Dean tortured and fucked on the rack…It was easier to focus on other things. 

Everything eased a little though when he saw his car, his hand sliding over her long lines on his way to the driver's seat. It was like a connection to himself. He had Sam and his car. He was home.

Even if Sam had douched up the car, tainted it with his emo, girly music…even if there were lies between them, because Dean would never tell Sam what he wanted to know, about the horrors of hell…and Dean knew Sam would never tell him what all went down after he died.

But this was good. Real. Right. The two of them in the Impala, cruising down some back road, the rest of the world out of sight. And maybe Sam wouldn't tell him everything, but there was at least one thing Dean really wanted to know…because he knew demons lie and he had to know if his father had been lying to him. "There's still one thing that's bothering me." Understatement, but it was a start.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, the night that I bit it. Or... got bit." His eyes closed briefly as the memory flashed through him, skin tearing, teeth ripping into him. "How'd you make it out? I thought Lilith was going to kill you."

Sam looked a little pale as he exhaled. "Well, she tried. She couldn't."

That was not what he'd expected to hear. "What do you mean, she couldn't?"

Sam looked uncomfortable, squirming in the seat beside him. "She fired this, like, burning light at me, and... didn't leave a scratch. Like I was immune or something."

"Immune?"

"Yeah. I don't know who was more surprised, her or me. She left pretty fast after that."

_"Heard about your brother." John said as he dropped a bowl of soup in front of Dean and took his seat. "He met a girl."_

_He looked up at his father, dropping deeper into the illusion. "Sam's got a girl?"_

_John's eyes met his, flooded with black. "Well, maybe she's got him."_

Dean swallowed down the memory. Demons lie. His father was a demon now, just like Dean had been on his way to becoming. His father lied. Dean has to believe that now. "Huh. What about Ruby, where is she?"

"Dead….or in hell…I don't know."

Dean bit his lip and glanced aside at him. The demon who had been John Winchester wanted Dean to believe that Sam was on the path to his own trip to hell, and that it was all related to the Yellow Eyed son-of-a-bitch and what he'd done to Sam. "So you've been using your, uh, freaky ESP stuff?"

"No." He sounded indignant. Or maybe guilty. Dean couldn't be sure.

"You sure about that? Well, I mean, now that you've got... immunity, whatever the hell that is... just wondering what other kind of weirdo crap you've got going on."

"Nothing, Dean. Look, you didn't want me to go down that road, so I didn't go down that road. It was practically your dying wish." Okay, that's irritated, Dean knows that sound and the pissy face that goes with it. 

"Yeah, well, let's keep it that way."

 

_It nags at him, suspicion…the idea that Sam is lying. Hounds him all the way to the place they stop, Bobby already out of his car and standing by the sidewalk. Psychic. Dean draws in a breath and looks up at the house. She could probably see right through him…right through all of them._

_She'll know he is lying, know he remembers, know what he did…she'll see the black stain on his soul and toss him out into the black on his own, leave him to whatever demon had done this…marked him._

_Why should she help him? She's one of the good guys to hear Bobby talk…and Dean? Well, he isn't sure what he is any more….because he ain't good, not like that…not with the things he's done, not with the things he thinks about…_

_"Hey, you coming?" Sam asks and Dean realizes his brother's already out of the car, already ready._

_"Yeah, yeah, okay." Dean shoves it all down, the memory, the desires, the pain, the pleasure, pushes it so far down inside him he almost can't feel it, almost doesn't know it's there himself and climbs out of the car, feeling almost like Dean Winchester._

_He puts on all the bravado and bluster of the man he was once as he follows Sam and Bobby to the door, flirts his way inside…and it feels good…and maybe he's just fooling himself, but maybe it's a start at something more, a way to get free of himself._

_At least until the psychic ends up in the hospital and the only thing they get out of the whole ordeal is a name._

_Castiel._

_Dean's heard the names of lots of demons in his time in hell, but that isn't one he knows…isn't in any of the books that Bobby gives them to start looking either, but Dean's done pussy-footing around when it comes for him again, shattering the glass in the room, leaving Dean with ringing ears and a bleeding scalp. He's pushed enough of the fear away that he's ready to call the mother-fucker up and face it down, find out what the price is for his ticket out of hell._

 

"You sure you did the ritual right?"

Bobby glared at him. Dean held up his hands. "Sorry. Touchy, touchy, huh?"

Wind whistled through the building, the roof rattling. Dean reached for the shotgun and stood, Bobby echoing the motion. At the far end of the spray-paint adorned building, a door burst open, the overhead lights flaring and exploding as a man strode in, right over the symbols and traps, as if they weren't even there.

Both Bobby and Dean opened fire, but aside from the dirty look, the man didn't even react.

"Who are you?" Dean yelled, anger and fear warring inside him.

The man turned to him with open blue eyes that seemed way too tender for a demon. "I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

"Yeah? Thanks for that." Dean plunged the knife into his chest, breathing heavy, but nothing happened.

They both looked at the knife and the man pulled it out, dropping it to the floor. Bobby lunged, and the man turned catching him before he could attack, and with just a touch to the forehead, he dropped Bobby to the floor too.

"We need to talk Dean. Alone."

Dean scrambled past the man, squatting beside Bobby, feeling for a pulse.

"Your friend is alive."

"Who are you?" He wasn't sure now how to feel, pissed, afraid. 

"Castiel."

Okay, that pushed him a little closer to annoyed. "Yeah, I figured that much, I mean what are you?"

"I'm an Angel of the Lord."

Dean squints at him. There's no sense of irony, not hint that the guy is crazy, off his rocker, delusional…he seems serious. "Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing."

Castiel sighs a little. "This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith."

And really? Dean has a fucking hell of a lot more problems than his lack of faith, in fact, his lack of faith had come in quite handy over the years, and he was just about to say so when lightening flashed and thunder rumbled, and in the light he could swear he saw great shadowy wings appear behind the guy.

He looked away, not ready yet to believe, even with proof standing in front of him. He would rather cling to his disbelief. "Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

"I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that."

The guy was so goddamn sincere, so sure of himself and it rubbed Dean all wrong. "You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you talking?" Castiel nodded, moving a little closer. Dean took a step back. "Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

"That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."

This can't be real. None of it. Angels didn't exist. Angels didn't pull people like him out of the pit. "And what visage are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?"

Castiel looked down at himself, disheveled tie, white shirt with some food stain just left of center, rumpled trench coat. "This? This is... a vessel."

"You're possessing some poor bastard?" That sort of proved his point. If angels did exist--

"He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this."

Right. Dean shook his head, held up one hand. "Well, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?"

Castiel frowned at him, looking genuinely confused by Dean's disbelief. "I told you."

"Yeah, right. An angel of the Lord. And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?"

The so called angel leaned in closer. "Good things do happen, Dean."

Something in the guy's demeanor made Dean very uncomfortable, fidgeting. "Not in my experience."

Castiel moved in even closer, those damn eyes looking right past all of the things Dean was trying to keep locked down, tearing open the walls he was hiding them behind. Dean flinched as the images of the things he'd done flooded his mind…all the laws he'd broken, the people he couldn't save, the souls he tortured, the pleasure he'd gotten from the perverse things they made him do in hell. 

"What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved?"

He wanted to punch the guy, wanted to beat him bloody because nobody deserved to be saved after that, after coming with his father's cock in his throat, after raping some woman whose face he can't even remember…Dean's face set hard as he looked away. "Why'd you do it?"

"Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you."

 

_It isn't real. It isn't real. He repeats it over and over, even as he cleans up the weapons and loads them into Bobby's trunk. Even as he helps Bobby up and they drive. It isn't real. It isn't real._

_He doesn't say much. They ride all the way to Bobby's with barely two words between them. Bobby calls Sam to meet them and when they get there, Dean can't bring himself to go inside. Not just yet._

_"Suit yourself." Bobby says, leaving Dean out in the yard. He walks. He fumes. Angel. Some goddamn fucking joke or something. Some demon thinks he can string Dean along, dangle something like salvation on a string to get him to do whatever fucking thing it is it wants._

_He's half way to the road before he realizes how far he's gone, walls of cars and junk between him and Bobby. He wants a cigarette, and he hasn't smoked in years. He stops, leans against a car. Sam would be at least a few hours behind them. Leaving Dean alone with the idea that an angel had pulled him out of hell._

_The sound of a heavy boot on the gravel pulls his attention and he looks up. Okay, not alone._

_"Hello Dean."_

_His eyes sweep up denim clad legs, leather jacket, scruffy face, dark hair. He stands, pushing off the car. "Do I know you?" Though he has a sneaking suspicion that he does, a familiar feeling in his gut. The smile on that face cuts through him and Dean gasps as a hand reaches out, catching him by the throat and pushing him back against the car._

_"Now, I know you haven't forgotten your old man so soon."_

_Dean can't swallow, can't breathe as he steps in, his stolen body tight against Dean's. "I'm the one who fucked you last, remember?" His tongue slides up Dean's face and he can't repress the shudder. "You screamed for me, came all over the place with my cock so far up inside you that you could taste it."_

_The face pulls back, eyes filled with inky black, hissing. He cracks his neck, sniffs at Dean's chin, over his neck, down to his shoulder. "What have we here?"_

_Strong fingers pull on his shirt, ripping it open to expose the hand print branded into Dean's skin. John's borrowed face ghosts over it, sniffing at it. "He put his hand on my boy…gonna have to pay for that."_

_Dean opens his mouth, tries to find his voice, but those lips close over his, tongue invading his mouth. The hand holding him moves, but Dean doesn't, stuck against the car while those two hands yank his jeans down, fondle him, lift his legs…and before he can do more than whimper into the mouth covering his, there's a cock in his ass, and Dean screams._

_John swallows the sound and pulls back, grinning. "You want to bring Singer out here? Make it a party? Bet he gets turned on watching you get fucked by a demon, Dean."_

_"Please, stop." Dean tries to fight, to pull away, but his cock his hard now in those big hands and John laughs at him, pulling a dry hand up Dean's cock._

_"You're the big warrior for God, Dean. Stop me yourself."_

_It doesn't take long and Dean's cock shoots come, followed quickly by the feeling of the cock inside him coming too and then Dean is sliding to the ground, bare ass on gravel._

_"Tell your brother I said hi, Dean. I'll be seeing you soon."_

_He's gone before Dean can fully register what just happened, before he can even think about exorcisms or whether or not it was real._

_But he knows as he pulls himself up, come oozing from his aching ass, gravel sticking to his skin. Because if it were just an illusion, he'd be in the pit right now as Alistair and the others laughed. But this isn't an illusion. It's real. Very real…and as Dean gets his jeans zipped up and turns for the house, he thinks that maybe, just maybe he'd rather be back in hell than here like this._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean died and went to hell, while Sam was left to carry on without his brother. Sam now attempts to adjust to having his brother back, and what that means, and what Dean isn't telling him, all while hiding a few secrets of his own. This switches the story to Sam's POV, and is a rough re-write of episode two, "Are you There God, It's Me Dean Winchester"

Sam sat outside the diner in the Impala, staring. Ruby was gone. He didn't feel right letting her into the car…not now. Dean was back and Sam felt dirty.

Everything swirled around him, the grief, the anger, the fear, but it didn't penetrate the numbness. He'd done everything he knew how to save his brother, he'd let Ruby pull him into this…He looked at the diner again. Everything Dean never wanted for him…everything Dean had been afraid of.

Sam started the car and exhaled slowly. He couldn't save them. Lately he was finding it hard to save much of anybody. His phone rang, and Sam lifted it. "Yeah, Bobby."

"We headed back to my place."

"Right, I'll meet up with you."

Sam dropped the phone and put the car in gear, pulling out onto the deserted, empty street. It was fitting, it suited the way he felt.

 

_He can't hear them, but he knows Dean can. Sam's heart thunders as Dean flies back onto the table and Lilith opens the door. He can't move, terror rooting him, even as Dean's eyes flash to his, begging him._

_The stoic Dean of moments before shatters under the onslaught of the hellhounds. His eyes fill with fear as invisible claws rip his skin open, drag him onto the floor._

_Sam's heart pounds faster and harder until he's sure he's going to die too…and then it's over…just…over…and Dean is so still…and Lilith is speaking, Sam can hear her voice, but the words make no sense and he still can't move and…"Dean."_

_He feels it, the white heat, light and power reaching for him and his reaction is reflex, an arm up to protect his eyes, but he knows this is it, and a part of him is relieved. He couldn't save Dean._

_He couldn't save his brother, who had given up everything to save him. He didn't deserve to live._

_But he feels it slowly building…she can't kill him. Not like this. He's left standing, panting, staring. She stares back for a long moment, then her head drops back and Lilith pours out of her and the body crumples to lay on the ground beside Dean._

_Dean._

_He shatters, what Lilith's fire couldn't do is done with one look at the broken body, blood still seeping from wounds. Sam drops to his knees, tears burning, throat closed. "Dean." He half expects some reaction, some smart ass comment about being a girl, some flicker of life. His hands hover, shaking, but he can't touch, not right away._

_Touching would only make it real. Too real…Dean is dead. Dean is dead. Dean is dead. It rattles on inside him, bouncing off the shattered pieces until his whole being is ringing with the words and he shakes, trembles._

_He slowly lets one hand touch him, lifts the lifeless body onto his lap, cradles it._

_This is his fault._

 

Sam pulled into Bobby's late in the day. His eyes followed Dean around the room for the first few minutes, still uncertain. It doesn't seem real. He didn't even hear the start of the conversation until Bobby said something about summoning.

"Wait, what? You summoned the damn thing?"

Dean at least had the decency to look apologetic. "Sam, I had to know. Something did this, and it has to be because it wants something from me."

Dean went back to pacing. Sam looked from him to Bobby and back again. "So? Were you planning on sharing?"

Dean huffed and dragged a hand through his hair. "At first nothing happened."

He was stalling. Sam held his breath and looked to Bobby. 

"We used every trap, protection sigil, everything I know." Bobby said, leaning against his desk with a large book in his hands. "Covered that place."

"And it walked right in. Despite it all, plus a couple rounds of rock salt. I even ganked it with Ruby's knife." Dean said.

Bobby moved to his chair, opening his book on the desk.

"It walked right in?" Sam asked, sinking into a chair while Dean kept pacing. "What walked right in?"

Dean actually looked a little green as he made a face and looked to Bobby. "An 'angel of the lord'." Dean made little air quotes before snarling.

"A…what?" Sam felt a flutter inside him. An angel would actually make more sense…except in the way that it didn't make sense. But what demon would want Dean out of hell? What demon had the power? "Castiel is an angel?"

"That's what he said." Dean responded. "He said he was an angel and that he was the one who pulled me out." Dean shook his head and went back to pacing. "But it can't be, right? I mean…angel? Come on."

"Well then, tell me what else it can be." Sam leaned back, watching his brother pace. He was clearly uncomfortable, but Sam was starting to feel a little relief from the non-stop dead run he'd been on since he found out that Dean had made a deal to save him.

"Look, all I know is that I was not groped by an angel."

Sam sighed and shook his head. An angel was good news. It meant maybe someone was on their side for a change, that maybe they weren't alone in the fight, that maybe Sam really did have his brother back…for good. He looked away, hoping all of that didn't show in his face. "Okay, why would this Castiel lie to you about it?"

"Maybe he's some kind of demon. Demons lie." Dean was desperate, grabbing onto any idea that wasn't an angel. Almost as desperate as Sam was starting to be that it be true.

"A demon that's immune to salt rounds and devil's traps…and Ruby's knife? Hell, Dean, even Lilith is scared of that thing." Sam nodded to himself. He'd always wanted to believe…and now…

"Don't you think that if angels were real, some hunter somewhere would have seen one? At some point? Ever?"

Sam grinned up at his brother. "Yeah, Dean. You just did."

Dean shot him a "you know what I mean" look. "I'm trying to come up with a theory here, Sam. Okay? Work with me a little."

For the first time in more than a year though, Sam felt a little bit of hope. "We have a theory, Dean."

"One with a little less fairy dust on it, please."

Sam rolled his eyes and looked to Bobby as he cleared his throat. "You two chuckleheads want to keep arguing religion? Or do you want to come take a look at this?" He put his hand down on the book as Sam and Dean moved closer. "I got stacks of lore, Biblical, pre-Biblical, some of it's in damn cuneiform. It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit."

"What else?" Dean asked, his eyes on the page under Bobby's hand.

"What else, what?"

"What else could do it?"

Bobby shook his head. "Airlift your ass out of the hotbox? Far as I can tell, nothing." 

Sam smacked Dean's shoulder. "This is good news."

"How?" Dean asked, rubbing at the spot and moving away.

"Because for once, Dean, it isn't just another round of demon shit. I mean, it looks like you got saved by one of the good guys, you know?"

Dean's back was to them, tense. "Say it's true. Say there are angels. Then what? Does that mean there is a god?"

"At this point, Vegas money is on yes." Bobby said.

Sam smiled, but as Dean turned around there was something in his eyes that pulled the smile off his face. The idea was terrifying. Dean pulled it back quickly, covered it by wiping a hand over his face. "I don't know…"

"Okay, look…" Sam crossed to Dean, trying to see past the tough guy exterior. "I know you're not into all the choirboy stuff. But this is becoming less about faith, Dean, and more and more about proof."

Dean shook his head. "Proof? What…proof that there's a god out there? One that actually gives a crap about me? Sorry, I'm not buying it."

"Why not?"

"Because…" Dean made a face and moved away from Sam again. "Why me? If there is a god out there, why should he give a crap about me?"

"Dean—" Sam glanced at Bobby, then back at his brother. Dean's breathing was tight and Sam knew he was holding something back behind the anger in his voice. 

"I mean, I've saved some people, okay? I figured that sorta made up for the stealing and shit. But why do I deserve to get saved? I'm just…a regular guy."

"Apparently you're a regular guy that's important to the man upstairs." Sam said softly. He watched Dean struggle and drag in a deep breath. 

"Well, that just creeps me out. I mean, I don't like getting singled out at birthday parties…much less by…God."

"Too bad Dean. It looks like he wants you to strap on your party hat."

Dean's jaw was tight and he swallowed before turning his attention back to Bobby. "What do we know about angels?"

 

_"Sam."_

_"No." Sam shakes his head, folds himself over Dean's lifeless body. "No, Bobby, not yet."_

_"Come on Son. It's time to let him go."_

_"I can't." Sam's hands are cold and cramped, his knees hurt._

_"You have to, Sam."_

_Bobby's hand is on his shoulder and it pulls Sam back. The room is cold, empty but for them. Dean's eyes stare up at him but there's nothing in them. Dean's voice still echoes in his head, screaming his name, screaming for help._

_This is his fault._

 

"Is it true?"

Sam blinks. He had been reaching for her, but he stopped. "Is what true?"

"Did an angel rescue Dean?" She's practically vibrating, and he's never seen her this wound up, this on edge.

"We think so." Sam shook his head, not sure why he's the only one who thinks that this is the first good news they've gotten in a long while. She turned to leave and Sam grabbed her arm. "Wait, Ruby…what's going on?"

She looked at him like he was stupid. "They're _angels_ Sam. I'm a demon? They're not gonna care if I'm being helpful. They smite first, ask questions later."

Sam frowned and crossed his arms. Something in her attitude was annoying him. She'd been pissy since she opened the motel room door and found Dean standing on the other side. Considering all they'd done together he expected a little bit more from her. "So what do you know about them?"

"Not much. Never met one, don't want to. All I know is that they scare the holy hell out of me. Take care of yourself Sam." She turned to leave and this time he let her.

"I'm not afraid of angels."

She stopped and turned back, looking hard at him. "Maybe you should be."

 

_His shirt is still stained with Dean's blood. His hands are clean now, but he can still feel the way the blood was warm, the way it cooled on his skin. It's been two days and he can't sleep, can't feel._

_Dean is in hell. Sam can hear him. He knows it isn't real. Knows it's his own imagination, but it doesn't matter._

_He lifts the bottle of Jack and drinks, swallows down the burn hoping it will numb the pain._

_"Sam, it's time."_

_"You're not burning him." Sam says sloppily, taking the lighter fluid away from Bobby. "I'm going to get him back, and he's going to need his body."_

_He expects an argument, he expects Bobby to hit him upside the head and tell him he's an idiot and do what should be done. But Bobby doesn't. He just walks away, leaving Sam and Dean's body and the open grave._

_This is his fault._

 

Sam was almost relieved to find Dean and Bobby prepping for a hunt of sorts when he got back, the question of angels and Dean's rise from hell set aside as they discovered dead hunters. 

This was familiar and Sam could lose himself in the details of the hunt, figuring out the puzzle. It was easier than fighting with Dean, easier than watching the flickers of terror in his brother's eyes.

Dead hunters, four that they'd found, all with signs of spirit activity, but no clear clue what was going on. Dean pulled off for gas and Sam headed for the men's room, more to stretch his legs and spend a few minutes away from the heavy presence of his brother than out of any real need.

He ran warm water and washed his hands, tensing up as the mirror fogged over. The water wasn't that hot. He wiped the mirror clean and froze, blinking. His father's face appeared over his shoulder.

Sam whirled. John Winchester smiled at him. "Hey Sam."

"Dad? I…you…" He shook his head. "You're dead."

John nodded. "I know."

This made no sense. He'd seen his father's spirit the night the yellow eyed demon died. "You shouldn't be here."

"Had to see you." He moved closer, blocking Sam in against the sink. "Warn you…"

"Warn me? About what?"

John leaned in and Sam could just about feel him. "Your brother. He isn't telling you everything." He looked at Sam, his smile making Sam uneasy. "But then, you aren't telling him everything either, are you?"

His father's ghost raised an eyebrow. "You do know she's a demon Sam…that bitch you're whoring with? Ask Dean what demons do in the pit…ask him what demons did to him…" His hand grabbed Sam by the throat, pushing him hard against the sink. "What do you think he's gonna say when he finds out you've been up here fucking around with one of them, while he was down there suffering for you?"

The lights flickered and suddenly Henriksen was in the room. John's hand let him go and he grinned before he vanished.

"Hi Sam, been a while."

Sam was still reeling from one ghost as the second punched him. "You left us there to die, Sam."

Sam ducked the next punch, but Henriksen shoved him into a line of metal lockers. "We didn't know."

"You were supposed to protect us." Henriksen's hand shoved him into the sink, his head cracking against the dirty porcelain on his way down. The door opened behind the ghost and Sam curled up and covered his head as Dean shot Henricksen with rock salt.

"Sam?"

He climbed up, nodding at Dean. "I'm fine."

"Bobby's not answering, the lights start flickering and you may be a girl, but even you don't take that long in the bathroom." Dean's voice had the slightest tremor in it, his eyes a touch of panic before he looked away. "Was that Henriksen?"

Sam rubbed at the bruise forming on his face as he stepped out of the small room and headed for the car. "Yeah…and he was pissed."

Dean frowned as he opened the driver's side door. "Why? What did he want?"

"Revenge? We let him die." Sam opened his mouth to mention their father, but stopped. 

"Is that what this is?" Dean frowned at the steering wheel. "I don't get it."

 

_The alcohol doesn't burn anymore. Sam falls back onto the bed in some dark motel room after trying for weeks to find a way, any way at all, to bring Dean back. Demons laugh at him, Bobby thinks he's crazy. He's never felt so alone and small and cold._

_He closes his eyes but he doesn't sleep much these days. He drinks and dozes off…but in the dark he hears Dean's voice, hears Dean calling for him, hears Dean screaming in agony. In the silence, he feels him…his eyes accusing Sam._

_"I did this to save your ass, Sam."_

_"I know." Sam slams the empty bottle against the wall, curls up on his side, covers his ears, his eyes. It doesn't help. Dean's body, ripped, shredded fills his mind, and he can still hear the screaming._

_Dean is dead._

_Dean is in hell._

_Sam let him die._

_This is his fault._

 

Bobby had to be there somewhere. Dean headed upstairs, Sam out into the yard. If ghosts were doing this, if the dead were coming back after those who let them die, this could get awfully ugly. They all had lists of the ones they couldn't save.

"Bobby?"

"Going to let him die too, Sam? Like you let Dean die?"

Sam whirled to find his father behind him. He swallowed and lifted the shotgun in his hands. "Are you going to shoot my Sam? Your own father?"

"My father is dead." Sam said.

"That's right. You didn't stop me from dying either, did you Sammy? Let me make that deal, let me die and go to hell. Just like you let Dean die. Just like you let Dean take your place in hell."

Sam shook his head. "I didn't make that deal. Dean did."

He came closer, his hand closing on the end of the gun. "You let him die. He didn't deserve that Sam. He didn't deserve the things they did to him down there. You're the one who's part demon. You're the one who belongs in hell."

He shifted and vanished. Where he'd been standing, Sam saw a hint of movement, a reflection in a broken mirror. His eyes scanned the wrecked cars, finally finding Bobby, pinned in a car by two ghosts.

"Hold on Bobby, I'm coming!" He scrambled up to the car, grabbing an iron crow bar to pry the door open. The ghosts of two little girls shove Bobby out of the car, down onto the caved in roof of another, one following Bobby, the other turning on Sam.

He swung the crow bar and she vanished. Bobby was panting and climbing to his feet when Sam got back to him. Together they headed in to the house, where Dean was coming down the stairs, holding his shoulder.

"More ghosts?" Sam asked.

"Meg." Dean said.

"Two little girls I couldn't get to years ago." Bobby added, wiping blood from his face. 

"What about you?" Dean asked, looking at Sam.

Sam licked his lips and shook his head. "No…nothing." 

 

_He dreams of hell when he dreams. He thinks he remembers the taste of sulfur when he wakes. It hangs in the air when Dean holds him like he's been gone a lifetime. Demons hover at the edges of his awareness. Bobby looks at him like he's a ghost._

_He feels real…his heart beats, his lungs pull in air._

_Dean holds on a long, long time._

_His father's words clutter up his brain. "If you leave, don't come back."_

_They lay on the floor, all mixed up with Dean's, "What's dead should stay dead."_

_Sam thinks maybe he was dead._

_Dean's eyes are dead._

_Dean's body is cold and lifeless and in the ground._

_Sam knows it's because of him…years of Dean cleaning up after him, taking care of him, sacrificing everything for him, taking the blame, covering his ass, saving his life…He's greedy and needy and he takes anything Dean will give him…even this…and he knows his tears aren't enough…knows nothing he can do will make this right, no deals to be made, no sacrifice he can make great enough to bring Dean back._

_Because Dean was the better of the two of them. Stronger. Always so much stronger._

_Dean is dead. In hell._

_Sam is alone. Cold. Empty._

_It's his fault. Always his fault._

 

The ghosts came at them faster with each word Bobby spoke. Henriksen, Meg, the two girls, Ronald…popping up over and over again. Sam emptied round after round of salt into them as the salt line disappeared in the wind that came crashing through the windows. 

Sam lost sight of Dean as he ran out of ammo and got trapped between a desk and the wall. 

Somehow in the chaos, Bobby finished the ritual, Dean managed to get the bowl of ingredients into the fire and just as suddenly as it began, it was over.

The clean up went slow, and Bobby called it a night as soon as the worst of the mess was taken care of, leaving Sam and Dean to themselves.

"You all right?" Dean asked as he settled onto the couch with a beer.

Sam nodded slowly, staring out the window at the dark yard. "Yeah, Dean. I'm fine."

"You're awful quiet."

Sam heard the accusation that Dean didn't offer. Dean knew he was hiding things from him. "Just tired."

"Long day." Dean agreed.

It was awkward and tense. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Sam wanted to ask him, again, what he remembered about hell…wanted to know if his dreams came close, but Dean wouldn't tell him. Even now, Dean was trying to protect him. "Never mind. We should get some sleep."

"Fine by me. Catch the light?" Dean stretched out on the couch, eyes closed, breathing already easing into a steady rhythm, though Sam knew he was faking. Sam did the same on the other couch, kicking his shoes off.

He closed his eyes, and this time, instead of Dean's bloody body filling his mind, it was his father, lying cold and dead on the floor at the hospital. His father who had known that Sam had demon blood inside him, that had warned Dean he might have to kill Sam to keep him from turning evil…His father who had come to him an angry, vengeful spirit, who had tried to kill him because Sam hadn't saved him.

Because Sam had always been the weakest of them. But he was done being weak, done letting the people around him die needlessly. Dean didn't have to approve or understand. Sam was determined, now more than ever, to use whatever gifts he had at his disposal to make a difference.


	5. cado in nusquam (fragilis innocentia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean died and went to hell, while Sam was left to carry on without his brother. Sam now attempts to adjust to having his brother back, and what that means, and what Dean isn't telling him, all while hiding a few secrets of his own. This continues the story in Sam's POV, and is a rough re-write of episodes nine and ten.

Sam eased the door open and slipped into the room, his eyes darting around before falling on the place where his brother lay sleeping. The room had a vague smell of sex and that lingering feeling of _demon_ that he was becoming all too accustomed to after all the time he spent with Ruby.

Dean was fully dressed, his jacket pulled over him, like he expected to run at any moment. His hands twitched, and if Sam tried he could probably feel the nightmares his brother still tried to deny.

He insisted he didn't remember. Told Sam whenever he asked, but Sam knew different. Sam saw the tremors in his hands, heard his whimpering when he dreamed, watched him drink whiskey from the bottle at nine in the morning. Dean remembered something.

Not that Sam could blame him for keeping it a secret, not with all the secrets Sam was keeping. He dropped his coat on the bed Dean wasn't sleeping on and kicked off his shoes, heading in to shower off his own smell of sex. 

They were going to have to move fast, if Ruby's information was correct. He stripped down and climbed in under the weak spray, washing quickly and stepping out to towel off. He waited until he was partially dressed, clean jeans pulled on and a t-shirt in hand before kicking the bed. "Dean, wake up."

Dean jumped awake, knife in his hand as he sat up. "Sam?"

"Yeah, got us a case, lets roll."

"What? Where?"

"Few hours from here. A girl escaped a psych ward."

Dean dropped the knife and fished his bottle out of his jacket pocket, taking a sip. "How is that a case for us?"

"Her name is Anna Milton, and she's got some heavy duty price on her head."

Dean sipped at the bottle again before capping it and shoving it into his jacket. "Where'd you get this?"

Sam sighed and finished getting dressed. "Dude, seriously. Does it matter?"

"Hell yes, it matters, Sam. We ain’t goose chasing after some chick, who for all we know doesn’t even exist, just because your hell-bitch girlfriend tells us to."

Sam turned away, not wanting to rise to the argument that always erupted when Dean and Ruby entered the same conversation. "She says the girl's important, and that demons have orders to take her alive."

"And you're believing her?"

"I already called the hospital, and Anna Milton is real and she did escape. It's about a three day drive, so we gotta hustle."

Dean squinted at him, crossing his arms. "Don’t mean the case is real."

"We’ve driven further for less, Dean." Sam said

Dean shook his head, but started gathering his things. The look on his face told Sam all he needed to know about what Dean thought about that. "You got something to say, say it."

"Oh, I’m saying it. This sucks." Dean stormed out of the room and unlocked the car.

"You’re not pissed we’re going after the girl, you’re pissed Ruby threw us the tip."

"I'm pissed because I don't know what she's playing at Sam. I'm pissed because you haven't sent her packing like you said you would. As far as you’re concerned, the hell bitch is practically family." He slammed the door of the car as Sam threw his bags into the back seat. "I'm saying, something major must have happened while I was downstairs, cause I come back and- and- and you’re BFF with a demon?"

Sam feels the disapproval and guilt rolling off his brother. "I told you Dean, she helped me go after Lilith."

"Well, thanks for the thumbnail, real vivid. You wanna fill in a little detail?" Dean pulled them onto the road, even though he didn't really know where they were going.

Sam felt anger bubbling up inside him, because Dean was demanding, but he wasn't being upfront and honest either. "Sure, Dean, let’s trade stories. You first. Want to tell me, how was hell? Don’t spare the details."

Dean glared at him, but Sam was just getting started. "What about that guy? Wanna tell me who it is you've been meeting up with while I'm with Ruby? Or why you always smell like sex when I get back?"

"Sam, I'm warning you…don't go there."

"No? Fine. You keep your secrets, I'll keep mine."

Dean was even more pissed now, his face tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight, his eyes on the road stretched out ahead of them. Sam turned to look out the passenger side window and tried to ignore the burning in his chest.

 

_He's sloppy, drunk, wasted on grief and loneliness and guilt as he buries the damn box, screaming into the night. "Come on!"_

_He turns around and around, waiting, expecting. "Where the hell are you?"_

_He chugs from the bottle in his hand, anger welling. "Fuck!" He throws the bottle and it crashes against the stop sign, shattering before Sam notices the man standing in the small puddle of light from the bus stop lamp post._

_"I was wondering whether to come or not, I mean, you did shoot one of my co-workers." The man's eyes flash red as Sam stumbles closer. "Don’t take this the wrong way Sam, but you don’t look so hot buddy. I guess burying your brother didn’t agree with you."_

_Sam blinks at him, throwing his arms open wide, giving himself up. "Here I am…take me."_

_"Let’s see that special little knife of yours first."_

_Sam holds up Ruby's knife and slams it on the giant wooden spool left standing beside the bus benches. "No Devil’s Traps either, I’m not here to play games." The world was wobbly as Sam waited, arms still spread wide._

_The demon comes out of the light and starts moving toward Sam slowly. "Well, let me guess, you want to make a deal? And ‘round and ‘round the Winchester’s go." His mocking cuts open wounds deeper and Sam wants to grab the knife and twist it in his belly, crack him open and bleed him dry. It's a small echo of what Dean is going through…a small connection to his brother. "Sorry Sam, that’s not gonna happen."_

_Sam curses under his breath, nodding. He should have known. Damn, fucking demons. In one fast motion Sam slams the knife down into the demon's hand, pinning it to the wooden spool. The demon tries to grab Sam, but he's had enough games and twists the other hand, crushing it against the wood. "I don’t want ten years, I don’t want one year, I don’t want candy, I just wanna trade places with Dean."_

_This shouldn't be so hard. Dean was there because of Sam, Sam should be able to buy his way out._

_"No."_

_"Just take me! It’s a fair trade!"_

_"No." The damn thing is smiling at him, lips curling up._

_"Why not? Lilith wants me dead, just let Dean go and she can have me."_

_"Tell me Sam…what do you remember about being dead?"_

_Sam blinks, shakes his head. "What?"_

_"Don’t you understand Sam? It’s not about your soul. Dean’s in hell, right where we want him, just like you're here…right where we want you. We’ve got everything exactly the way we want it. You wanna kill me?! Go ahead, I’ve made peace with my lord."_

 

The information they picked up at the hospital and the dead bodies they find at the girl's home are enough to convince Dean that maybe Ruby has a point about the girl. They find her at a church, scared, hiding.

"Anna? We’re not gonna hurt you, we’re here to help." He held up his gun and showed her he was putting it away. She stared at him, fidgeting in place, her eyes dancing back and forth from Sam to Dean. "My name is Sam, this is my brother Dean."

"Sam? Not Sam Winchester."

Sam looked at Dean who shrugged. "Uh- yeah."

She stepped out of the shadows into the pool of colored light coming in through the stained glass window, still looking scared and unsure of herself. "And you’re Dean."

Dean looked from her to Sam and back again, tucking his own gun into his belt. He opens his mouth to respond, but clearly is at a loss. 

" _The_ Dean? 

Dean smirked. "Well, yeah…The Dean…I guess."

Sam rolled his eyes and focused on the girl. 

"It’s really you." She moved forward, her hands rubbing together, her eyes sparkling. "Oh my God, the angels talk about you. You were in hell, but Castiel pulled you out and some of them think you can help save us." She looked at Sam almost apologetically. "And some of them don’t like you at all."

Sam almost steps backward, the dislike profound even in just her voice, though it isn't coming from her. She doesn't seem to necessarily agree with the sentiment, just can't keep from reverberating it.

"They talk about you all the time lately, I feel like I know you."

"So you talk to angels?" Dean asked, glancing at Sam again. Sam was half sure that glance was an "I told you so" about the psychic shit and it being wrong, but Sam sloughed it off. Now was not the time for more of that…not when that might be the only thing to save them in the end.

"Oh, no, no, no way, um, they probably don’t even know I exist. I just kind of overhear them."

"You overhear them?" Sam asked, not sure now if the girl really was just crazy.

"Yeah, they talk and sometimes I just hear them in my head."

"Like…right now?" Dean stepped a little closer and this time she didn't shy back into the shadows.

"Not right this second, but a lot, and I can’t shut them out there are so many of them."

"So they lock you up with a case of the crazies when really you were just tuning into to angel radio?"

"Yes, thank you." She looked relieved that someone believed her, if not relieved that it was the two of them that found her.

"Anna, when did the voices start? Do you remember?" Sam asked, trying to make sense of the whole thing.

"I can tell you exactly, September 18th."

"The day I got out of hell." Dean responded, shaking his head.

Anna nodded frantically. "First words I heard, clear as a bell: ‘Dean Winchester is saved'."

Sam could feel movement, demon…Ruby. He realized Dean was waiting for him to answer a question he didn't hear. "It’s above my paygrade man." 

"Well, at least now we know why the demons want you so bad. They get a hold of you, they can hear everything the other side’s cooking, you’re 1-900-Angel."

Anna opened her mouth to say something, but the door slammed open and Ruby burst in, making Anna scream.

"You got the girl, good, let’s go."

"Oh! Her face! She's not human."

"No, it’s okay, she’s here to help." Sam said, reaching out to Anna who cringed away.

"We have to hurry." Ruby said, waving them toward the door.

Dean crossed his arms, standing between Ruby and Anna. "Why?"

"Because there's a demon coming big-time. We can fight later Dean."

Sam wasn't convinced Dean was going to back off, and he shielded Anna with his body. When the two of them finally threw off the gloves, it was going to be a bloody fight.

"Pretty damn convenient, showing up right when we find the girl with some big wig on your tail." Dean's gun was back in his hand, his eyes darting around the room.

"I didn’t bring him here, you did. Followed you from the girl's house. We gotta go now."

"Too late." Sam said, feeling the creepy sensation climb up his spine. "It's already here."

Dean moved toward Sam, who grabbed Anna and headed toward a door. He put her in a closet. "Okay, stay in there, don’t move."

The poor girl looked terrified. Sam wanted to reassure her, but Dean needed him, and he had a job to do. 

Sam pulled a bottle of holy water out of his pocket as he rejoined Dean, but Ruby was already shaking his head. "No Sam, you gotta pull him right away."

"Whoa, hold on a sec-" Dean scowled at Sam. 

"Now’s not the time to bellyache about Sam going darkside. He does his thing, he exorcises that demon or we die."

There wasn't time to argue then as the door flew open, cracking down the middle and shaking the room. Sam's had reached out, waiting until he could feel him. He stepped back as a man appeared, eyes closing as he pulled at the demon inside him.

He felt the resistance as it fought to stay inside, powerful. Strong. There. There's the smallest give and Sam pulled harder, the man choking as the demon started to come out.

He knew in an instant it wasn't enough, opened his eyes just in time to see his eyes go white as he coughed and cocked his head at Sam. "That tickles."

Ruby looked at him with fear in her eyes. Sam knew how she felt.

"You don’t have the juice to take me on Sam." He made a fist in Sam's direction, yanking him forward and into the door, sending him crashing toward the stairs. 

"Hello again Dean." Sam heard as he crawled up the stairs, trying to get back to protect Dean and Anna. "Come on, don’t you recognize me? Oh I forgot, I’m wearing a pediatrician…But we were so close, in hell."

Dean was bleeding, his face a mess of fear and anger and blood as the demon held him by the throat, fist back to hit him again.

"Alistair." Sam heard the name and shivered. He had heard the name mumbled in sleep, in dreams, falling from Dean's lips in a combination of fear and lust. Alistair laughed and Sam took his distraction as the moment to strike, running at the demon with Ruby's knife. Alistair turned to confront him, taking the blade full in the chest. 

"You’re gonna have to try a whole lot harder than that son."

Ruby was nowhere to be seen and Alistair was grabbing the knife in his chest. Sam reached for Dean and together they raced for the window, crashing through the glass and slamming into the ground below.

 

_Sam whirls to find his father behind him. He swallows and lifts the shotgun in his hands. "Are you going to shoot me Sam? Your own father?"_

_"My father is dead." Sam says, his hands sweating, his heart pounding. He knows this isn't real. His father is dead. This is just his mind, his guilt._

_"That's right. You didn't stop me from dying either, did you Sammy? Let me make that deal, let me die and go to hell. Just like you let Dean die. Just like you let Dean take your place in hell."_

_Sam shakes his head, can't keep himself from answering. "I didn't make that deal. Dean did."_

_He comes closer, his hand closing on the end of the gun. "You let him die. He didn't deserve that Sam. He didn't deserve the things they did to him down there. You're the one who's part demon. You're the one who belongs in hell."_

_Sam shakes his head again, tears falling from his eyes. "No…no…don't say that."_

_"You're the one sleeping with a demon, Sam…feeding on her…she's walking you right up to the gates of hell and she won't even have to work to get you inside…then your brother will have died in vain."_

_"I'm helping him. Someone's got to be strong enough."_

_His father's smile is frightening. "Is that what you believe Sammy?"_

 

Sam was pacing. Alone in the cold barn while Dean and Anna were…well, he didn't want to think too much about that. His brother deserved a little warmth and tenderness and he wasn't going to get in the way. 

Ruby slid into the barn, slipping her arms around him and smiling up at him. "You ready?"

Sam made a face and pushed her away. "No, Ruby. This is…" He shook his head. "If Dean knew…"

She grabbed him and pushed him onto a bale of hay, straddling his lap and pulling a knife out of her boot. "He's busy with the littlest angel out there…won't even know we're here for at least a half hour." Her teeth nipped at his lips until he opened them and her tongue invaded his mouth, her body writhing on top of him, grinding against him. 

She sighed when she realized he wasn't going to reciprocate and looked at him. "You're going to need it when Alistair and his boys come looking."

Sam closed his eyes and nodded. "I know."

She smiled and lifted the knife, dragging it over her arm before offering it to Sam. He took a deep breath, swallowing the lump of doubt in this throat. He was only doing this to save Dean. He closed his eyes and closed his mouth over the wound, the copper-salt taste filling his mouth and he drank.

He panted as he pulled his mouth away and wiped it on his sleeve. "Enough." He could feel it in his stomach, burning and _not-right_ , bubbling up through him, awakening the power, strengthening his gifts.

Ruby patted his chest and stood. "Right…time for me to go make nicey-nice with the bad boys. I hope for your sake this actually works."

"Yeah." Sam said standing as the energy from the blood started to burn through him. "Me too."

 

_"You think you can save him this way?"_

_Sam closes his eyes against the slamming sensation that always accompanies the angel, like his entire being is being shoved into the nearest hard surface. "You sure as hell aren't." Sam manages as his breath returns._

_"I pulled him from hell."_

_"Physically, maybe." Sam agrees, rolling his shoulders._

_Castiel looks at him, through him, his gaze hot, but still distant somehow. "He walks a dangerous line, Sam. A very dangerous line."_

_Sam gets the feeling that Castiel is warning him, that there's something more that he's supposed to glean from the words. "You could cut him some slack. He was in hell." Sam wants to walk away, but doesn't._

_"And the road he's on will take him back all too soon." Castiel flicks his eyes over Sam. "You will be joining him if you continue as you are."_

_"I'm…" Sam set his jaw and shakes his head. "Maybe if we were getting some goddamn help instead of you trying to kill some innocent girl—"_

_He holds up those two fingers between them and Sam inhales sharply. "Not all things are as they appear, Samuel. Not everyone is who they seem to be." Those fingers press to his forehead and Sam jumps awake._

 

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." Anna replies, stepping out from behind Dean.

Sam's eyes flicked from the angel, who showed no signs of the conversation Sam wasn't even sure they had, then to the door. Ruby needed to show up soon, or this was never going to work.

Just as he thought that, the door burst open and Alistair, still wearing the pediatrician, threw Ruby to the floor. She was hurt, bleeding. Sam could smell the blood. He shook his head as the fight started, needing to get his head in the game. 

Castiel was fighting with Alistair while Uriel snarled and took on the other two demons. Dean threw himself into the fray before Sam could grab him, going after Alistair, and Anna darted away from him, grabbing at Uriel as the two demons vanished.

"Oh, Dean…you had such promise." Alistair's voice dripped charm as his head dripped blood and Castiel struggled to his feet while Dean dangled from Alistair's grasp.

"Now, Sam, now!" Ruby screamed and Sam reached out for him, hand out, eyes half closed as he pulled at the demon. Dean yelled at him, then Sam felt Alistair retaliating, his throat closing off as he was lifted off the ground.

There was a booming sound and bright light filled the barn as Anna's grace filled her and then there was a flash of light and Alistair was gone, Sam and Dean thrown to the floor in a pile of aching limbs.

"We aren't done with this."

"We are for now." Castiel looked at Sam, his blue eyes startling, and Sam could hear his voice in his head. "Remember what I said." Sam blinked and they were gone, and so was Ruby, leaving just Sam and Dean.

The silence was tense as they cleaned up and headed out to the car. The trip to the nearest motel is just as silent and just as tense. "Dean, I—"

Dean held up his hand. "Not now."

Sam sighed. "No? When?"

"When I'm not so fucking pissed at you."

"Me?" Sam followed him into the room, throwing his bag on the nearest bed. "How is this about me?"

"You and those freaky ass powers…you told me you weren't doing it anymore."

"Well, excuse me if I was trying to save your fucking life."

"You know what Castiel said about it, Sam."

"Yeah, I know, Dean. I know. Okay. And maybe I still think it's the right thing to do. Maybe it means keeping you from a return trip to the pit, and maybe I think that's worth it."

"Worth what, Sam? Worth taking the goddamn trip yourself?"

"If that's what it takes." 

Dean growled as he shoved Sam into the wall, his hands in Sam's shirt, his face curled up in pain and rage. "No. No. No. I'm doing everything I can to keep you out of there, Sam. Everything I do is to save you. Don't you get that?"

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you made your deal." Sam said quietly. 

Dean swallowed and his grip loosened. "What does that mean?"

Sam shook his head. "I was dead, Dean."

Dean let go and stood back. "You said you didn't remember."

"So did you." Sam reached for him, but Dean pulled away. "I know you do."

"I can't do this." Dean stormed out the door, slamming it behind him and leaving Sam standing in the empty room. Alone. Again.

 

He waited nearly an hour, but his stomach twisted around the way Dean had looked at him when he realized that Sam knew at least some of what he'd been keeping secret.

Knowing Dean, he'd headed for the nearest bar, so he shouldn't be hard to find. Sam set out from the hotel, remembering the biker bar they'd passed on the way into town. It was just past the small cemetery.

He was nearly there when he heard Dean yelling…not entirely in pain, but enough that Sam stopped, his eyes scanning around him. It seemed to come from within the cemetery.

Sam jumped the low wall and crept through the dark. There was another voice, deeper, gruffer. There was grunting and Dean…whimpered, cursed. Sam inched around a tree, stopping cold as the sound of skin slapping against skin rose to a crescendo then stopped with a grunt and a yell and the smell of sex rode the light breeze toward him. 

"Dean…"

The man was big, at least as tall as Sam and broader at the shoulders and hips. He grinned as he turned toward Sam, his cock slick and shiny and still hard hanging out of his jeans. Dean slid down the tombstone he'd been bent over, his face bruising, his arm holding his chest.

The man's eyes went black as he laughed. "Sammy…I was wondering when I'd get to see you." His hand went to circle his cock, pumping it a little. "I got plenty left, want to go a round?"

Sam snarled, lifting his hand. He grabbed at the demon and yanked, watching the man's face look startled as he choked.

"Sam!" Dean crawled forward, got to his feet, pulling his jeans up and getting between Sam and the demon. "Sam, stop."

Sam's eyes flashed at Dean. "Get out of the way!"

Dean shook his head and took a step forward. "No, Sam. You can't—"

"He fucking raped you." Sam yelled as the man laughed.

"And he liked it, didn't you Dean-o? Go on, tell him." The man stepped forward, slapping at Dean's ass. "Cat got your tongue, Son?"

Dean half turned to growl at him, but the demon was done, black smoke roaring out of the biker and dropping him unconscious on the ground. Dean lowered his head and stood…just stood staring at him.

"Dean…" Sam took a hesitant step, but stopped when Dean stiffened. "I could have…"

Dean looked up, tears sparkling in his eyes. "He…that was…"

"You knew him…from…before. In hell?"

Dean moved to a different headstone, leaning against it and crossing his arms. "Yeah…you could say that, Sam. He was there…when Alistair…" Dean wiped away a tear and exhaled slowly. "You gotta understand Sam…it was more than just four months…I mean…up here it was four months, but there, time is different. It was…more like forty years."

Sam held his breath, held himself still, afraid that Dean would stop…afraid he might just tell him too.

"They…uh…they sliced, and they carved…and tore at me in ways that you…" He shook his head, the memory filling his eyes, the pain rolling off him almost overwhelming to Sam's heightened senses. "Until there was nothing left." His voice is cold, like he could keep it from tearing him apart if he could just keep it distant enough, but Sam could feel the break coming.

"And then suddenly, I would be whole again. Like magic…so they could start in all over." Dean shifted uncomfortably. "And he was there. He was part of it. He…fucked with my head while they…and he fucked me when they were done…"

Dean shivered, his eyes losing focus as he turned his head. "Alistair, at the end of every day, he came and he made me an offer. Every day. To take me off the rack, if I would…put souls on. If I started the torture. And I told him to stick it where the sun shines. Every time. For thirty years, I told him."

Dean's voice cracked and he stood, rubbing his hands over his arms. "And _he_ would hold me and whisper to me and tell me to let go." Somehow, Sam knew Dean meant the demon that had just been here. "Sometimes, he was…almost gentle. Told me I could find pleasure, that he would take care of me."

His shoulders were hunched over, his head bowed. "And I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy…I couldn't…and I got off that rack…God help me, I got right off it…and I started ripping them apart…I lost count of how many souls…the things that I did to them."

Sam moved closer, wanting to offer comfort, but not beginning to know how. "Dean…you…held on…for thirty years…that's…"

Dean shook his head. "He was there…he was there, Sam and he was right…I felt pleasure. I…let him…" 

"Who?" Sam reached out a hand to touch Dean's shoulder and Dean inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. 

"Dad."

The word was like a boot to his stomach. Sam stumbled backwards, tripping and landing hard on his ass in the wet grass. "That demon…that…" Sam pointed at the unconscious biker. "He…and that was…" He shook his head vehemently, as though denying it could make it not be real. "No, Dean…we saw him. He got out. He…"

"He was there a year Sam…god, that's like 120 years down there…" Dean came to squat beside him. "I can't blame him…not when I did the things I did." He wiped his face. "And I can't let you…" He sniffed and held out his hand to help Sam up. "Okay? No more…Ruby has to go."

Sam could understand that and he nodded, climbing to his feet. "But what about… _him_? What do we do about him?"

"Hell if I know, Sammy."


	6. cado en nasquam (mactatu venia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This picks up at the begining of "Family Remains" and runs through "On the Head of a Pin", where it finally diverges completely from canon. John Winchester never was very good at following someone else's plan when he has other ideas, and his boys are still his boys, even though he's not quite himself.

He body surfed a while, looking for a good meat suit to take him into the next part of their plan. He settled on a trucker with big hands and a filthy fantasy life, taking him just as he is finishing fucking some two dollar rest stop whore.

“You done with her?”

John looked up from the girl to find Alistair in the passenger seat. He shrugged and tucked the man’s dick into his jeans, climbing into the driver’s seat. 

“Hey, you didn’t pay for doubles.”

Alistair waved a hand and her neck snapped. “So how are the boys?”

“Ripe. Dean’s so close to losing it that it won’t take much more.”

“And Sam?”

John cracked the neck of the man he was inhabiting, settling into the body. “Coming along. The bitch you’ve got playing him is really twisting his head around.”

“She is my special girl.” Alistair crowed. “Now, keep an eye on them.”

“Yes, sir.” John waited from him to go, then waited a little longer because he knows Alistair by now. Fifty years on his rack, another seventy five carving up souls before he finally got the chance to get topside again. 

Even then he could see what his boys would become. He’d never been prouder, watching them work together to kill the fucking bastard that had taken their mother…the fucking bastard that had played all of them into their places in the end of everything. Dean’s deal to save Sam was a coup that even the yellow-eyed son of a bitch hadn’t predicted.

It had sealed their fates. It sent Dean into the pit where John could help him find his true nature. It had sent Sam running right into the arms of that slutty demon who was leading him by his cock right up to his role in the whole thing.

Only thing was, none of them expected that John had a whole different plan.

Fuck Lucifer and the apocalypse. Fuck Alistair and his grand scheme.

Fuck all of them.

John opened the door of the truck and jumped down. And speaking of fucking, all this thinking about it had him horny. It was nearly 2 am and the rest stop was mostly empty, all but a few trucks and one lonely car near the bathrooms. 

He sauntered that way. The young man inside was barely nineteen, asleep among all his worldly possessions. John smashed a hand through the window and dragged him out, throwing him over the hood of the car and ripping his jeans open. The kid screamed as John took him, flailing against the metal as if he could escape if he just tried hard enough.

John fucked him violently and left him bloody and sticky with come. “That’s better. Now then, where have you boys gotten off to?”

 

_"Sam!" Dean crawls forward, gets to his feet, pulling his jeans up and getting between Sam and the demon. "Sam, stop."_

_Sam's eyes flash at Dean. "Get out of the way!"_

_Dean shakes his head and takes a step forward. "No, Sam. You can't—"_

_"He fucking raped you." Sam yells as the man laughs._

_"And he liked it, didn't you Dean-o? Go on, tell him." The man steps forward, slapping at Dean's ass. "Cat got your tongue, Son?"_

_Dean half turns to growl at him, but the demon is done, black smoke roaring out of the biker and dropping him unconscious on the ground. Dean lowers his head and stands…just stands staring at him._

_"Dean…" Sam takes a hesitant step, but stops when Dean stiffens. "I could have…"_

_Dean looks up, tears sparkling in his eyes. "He…that was…"_

_"You knew him…from…before. In hell?"_

_Dean moves to a different headstone, leaning against it and crossing his arms. "Yeah…you could say that, Sam. He was there…when Alistair…" Dean wipes away a tear and exhales slowly. "You gotta understand Sam…it was more than just four months…I mean…up here it was four months, but there, time is different. It was…more like forty years."_

_Sam holds his breath, holds himself still, afraid that Dean will stop…afraid he might just tell him too._

_"They…uh…they sliced, and they carved…and tore at me in ways that you…" He shakes his head, the memory filling his eyes, the pain rolling off him almost overwhelming to Sam's heightened senses. "Until there was nothing left." His voice is cold, like he can keep it from tearing him apart if he can just keep it distant enough, but Sam can feel the break coming._

_"And then suddenly, I would be whole again. Like magic…so they could start in all over." Dean shifts uncomfortably. "And he was there. He was part of it. He…fucked with my head while they…and he fucked me when they were done…"_

_Dean shivers, his eyes losing focus as he turns his head. "Alistair, at the end of every day, he came and he made me an offer. Every day. To take me off the rack, if I would…put souls on. If I started the torture. And I told him to stick it where the sun shines. Every time. For thirty years, I told him."_

_Dean's voice cracks and he stands, rubbing his hands over his arms. "And he would hold me and whisper to me and tell me to let go." Somehow, Sam knows Dean means the demon that had just been there. "Sometimes, he was…almost gentle. Told me I could find pleasure, that he would take care of me."_

_His shoulders are hunched over, his head bowed. "And I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy…I couldn't…and I got off that rack…God help me, I got right off it…and I started ripping them apart…I lost count of how many souls…the things that I did to them."_

_Sam moves closer, wanting to offer comfort, but not beginning to know how. "Dean…you…held on…for thirty years…that's…"_

_Dean shakes his head. "He was there…he was there, Sam and he was right…I felt pleasure. I…let him…"_

_"Who?" Sam reaches out a hand to touch Dean's shoulder and Dean inhales a deep, shuddering breath._

_"Dad."_

_The word is like a boot to his stomach. Sam stumbles backwards, tripping and landing hard on his ass in the wet grass. "That demon…that…" Sam points at the unconscious biker. "He…and that was…" He shakes his head vehemently, as though denying it could make it not be real. "No, Dean…we saw him. He got out. He…"_

_"He was there a year Sam…god, that's like 120 years down there…" Dean comes to squat beside him. "I can't blame him…not when I did the things I did." He wipes his face. "And I can't let you…" He sniffs and holds out his hand to help Sam up. "Okay? No more…Ruby has to go."_

_Sam can understand that and he nods, climbing to his feet. "But what about…him? What do we do about him?"_

_"Hell if I know, Sammy."_

 

Sam woke with a start, looking around him. The impala was parked in some secluded place and Dean was in the front seat with a flashlight and a newspaper.

“What are you doing?”

Dean spared him a glance. “What's it look like I'm doing?”

Sam sat up with a sigh. “Like you're looking for a job.”

Dean sort of nodded and went back to reading. “Yahtzee.”

Sam leaned on the back of the seat separating them. “We just finished a job like two hours ago.”

Dean shrugged, but wouldn’t look at him. “Adrenaline's still pumping, I guess. So, what do you think...Cedar rapids, Tulsa, or Chi-Town?”

What Sam really thought was that they both need some down time. It had been a almost a month since the incident in the graveyard, since Dean told him about hell. Since Dean kept him from taking out a demon, because that demon used to be their father.

“I am all for working. I really am. But you got us chasing cases nonstop for like a month now. We need sleep.” Sam rubbed at his eyes. They hadn’t said a word about it since. Not a word. Hadn’t told anyone either. There were times Sam wasn’t even sure it had been real.

“Yeah, we can sleep when we're dead.” Dean said.

“You're exhausted, Dean.” Sam argued, though why Dean would see reason this time when he hadn’t all the previous times Sam had voted for down time escaped him.

“I'm good.” Dean disagreed.

“No, you're not. You're running on fumes, and you can't run forever.” And neither could he…though he certainly didn’t want to think about the consequences anymore than Dean did.

Dean, however, could take denial to whole new levels Sam was learning. “And what am I running from?”

“From what you told me.” Sam said softly. “Or are we pretending that never happened?”

Dean poked at the newspaper and completely changed the subject. “Stratton, Nebraska. Farm town. A man gets hacked to death in a locked room inside a locked house. No signs of forced entry.”

Sam let him have it, because honestly, he didn’t know what to say either. “Sounds like a ghost.”

“Yes, it does.” Dean dropped the flashlight and the news paper on the seat beside him and started the engine. 

Sam sighed as Dean backed them back onto the road and flopped back down, bending his knees enough that he could put his head on the seat. One of them needed enough sleep to think straight, and clearly, he couldn’t count on Dean for that.

 

He didn’t sleep because when he did, all he saw was hell. He let Sam think it was nightmares about the torture he suffered, the violation and pain and bloody torment that Alistair subjected him to while he was chained to the rack.

Dean sucked down coffee to keep himself awake, coffee spiked with whiskey to take the edge off. 

It wasn’t his own torture that kept invading his dreams. It was the things he’d done. The faces of those he’d ripped to shreds. The screams of the men and women he raped and beat and tore apart to the loving adulation of his demon father and their keeper, Alistair.

He didn’t know how he was holding it together, but the alternative was to fall apart. He couldn’t fall apart. His hands shook as they questioned the housekeeper, but he hid them in his pockets. As they left, he thought he saw his father in the woods along the road, but he blinked and it was gone. 

His father was dead. His body burned. The only thing left of John Winchester was a dark stain on the inside of Dean. The demon that used his name was nothing but a demon. Not his father.

That was what he told himself every time the fear bubbled up. Every time he thought he saw him in the rear view mirror or in someone’s eyes. If he just kept moving, hunting, salting and burning, he would be okay.

And right now, that meant protecting this stupid family, even if they wouldn’t listen. “Your family's in danger. You need to get out of the house now.”

As if on cue, the lights went dark.

“What the hell?”

Dean checked in with Sam who nodded, his fists clenching. “Nobody move!”

Outside the family dog was having a freak out and the kid jumped for the door, only to be restrained by his mother. “Buster!”

The sound shifted to something more like pain and the father shoved Dean aside, running out onto the porch. Sam and Dean followed.

“Buster! Buster? Buster! Buster!” 

The sound died, and Dean knew from the sickening silence that the dog was dead with it. Blood dripped from the moving van, the words “too late” scrawled out on the side. 

Dean looked to Sam who inhaled sharply and nodded. “We are not the bad guys, but you're in danger.” Dean said.

“First thing's first. You got to get your family out of here.” Sam added.

“Head to the motel I was talking about. You'll be safe there.” Dean turned to head for the car. They were going to need supplies.

“What are you two gonna do?” Brian asked.

“Oh, no! Oh, come on! Oh, come on!” The tires on the Impala were slashed, and a quick look at the family’s car and the moving truck showed that they were all in the same boat.

Sam pulled the trunk open, then stood and looked at Dean. “Dude, the guns are gone. So is the... Basically, everything is gone.”

“What kind of ghost messes with a man's wheels?” Dean rubbed a hand over his face, trying to think. He needed to focus. The kids were coming out and the girl was suddenly screaming.

“She's there! She's there!”

Dean looked where she was pointing, but he didn’t see any girl. He saw his father, dark eyes staring at him. He swallowed and blinked to make him go away. “What's a ghost doing outside?” he asked aside to Sam.

“You want to stay and find out?”

Dean wanted anything but that. He wanted this to be a simple job. He wanted this family kept safe. He wanted Sam to stop looking at him like that. “Everybody inside.”

“Are you crazy? We need to get the hell out of here!” 

Dean turned on the uncle. “In what?! This ghost is hunting us! Everybody back inside now! Move!”

Sam lead the way, disappearing into the kitchen and coming back a few minutes later with a canister of salt. It wasn’t much, but at the moment it was the only defense they had. He tossed the salt to Dean and started making a circuit of the room, checking the doors and windows. Dean drew out a circle. “Whatever's outside, it can't get in this circle. As long as the salt line is unbroken, this is the safest place to be.”

“Safe from ghosts?” the father asked skeptically.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Dean responded, his patience growing thin.

“Okay. I'm not listening to this anymore. Come on. I got to get my family out of here. Let's go.”

“Nobody's going anywhere until we kill this thing.” Dean growled.

Sam put a hand on Dean’s arm to calm him. “Sir, please. This is what we do. Just...trust us.”

They were wasting time. Sam showed the girl the pictures they’d gotten from the housekeeper. “Her. She was paler and a lot dirtier, but that was her.”

“That's the girl in the walls.” Danny added, pointing at the picture.

Sam pulled him aside and lowered his voice. “So it's the daughter?”

“So, what. The maid got her story wrong? Rebecca wasn't cremated?” His head hurt and he really wanted a drink. 

“Unless her spirit's just attached to something inside the house.”

That made some kind of sense. He nodded. “She hung herself in the attic, right?”

Sam was looking at him with that look again. The one that said he was worried, that Dean wasn’t acting like himself, that any minute he was going to demand that they talk about it. Dean exhaled and glanced up the stairs, then back at Sam.

“You want to babysit? I'll check it out.” Sam offered.

Uncle Ted started to push past them to go for the door. “This is just some backwoods hillbilly bitch, and I'm not about to sit around here waiting for her to go all Deliverance on my ass.”

Dean grabbed his arm. “Well, nobody's leaving the house.”

“Stop me.”

Rage filled him and Dean shoved the man into the wall. He wanted to stick a dirty knife into his gut and twist it. He swallowed the image and tried not to feel the imaginary slick of blood on his hands. “Listen, man. I've got a gun. You don't get your ass back in that circle, you're gonna have yourself a third hole.”

Dean shoved him away, running a shaking hand over his face and breathing slowly. Sam touched his back and Dean nodded. “Dude, you don't have a gun.” His voice was low, his hand still on Dean’s back. It was strangely grounding.

“And? I'm not letting that bastard or anyone else die tonight.” He breathed in and let it go slowly. 

Sam’s face was pinched, but he nodded. “You cool?”

Dean turned back to the family watching them. “I’m good. Go.”

_”You want him.”_

Dean closed his eyes and pushed the voice away. Alistair wasn’t there. It was his imagination. 

_”Take your knife and slice open his belly, play with his innards…fuck his ass while he screams…rip his throat open to listen to him gurgle…_

Dean pushed the thought and the images that came with it away. 

“What was that?” 

Dean turned just in time to see a door open and a freaky ass girl moved into the room, eyeing them all. A knife slid down into her hand.

He stepped back so that he was in the circle and between the girl and the family. “All right, everybody stay calm. She's a ghost. She can't come in the circle.”

The girl kept coming until she was at the edge of the salt line, cocking her head as she looked from it up to Dean. No ghost he’d ever seen had eyes like that. No ghost he’d ever seen could step over a salt line the way she did.

“I thought you said ghosts couldn't cross the circle.”

“They can't. She's not a ghost. Go, go, go! Move!” He shove them toward the door and turned to hold off the blade she tried to shove into his chest. Her skin was cold and dry, but certainly skin and despite her size she was strong and determined.

Her screams echoed off the walls, bounced into him and he was right back in hell in his brain. “Shit.” She had him on the ground, holding her off but only barely when Dean heard Sam.

“Hey!” Sam shined his flashlight into her eyes and she ran, covering her eyes.

“So, it's not a ghost.” Dean was shaking again, his hands trembling. His father’s false concern in hell playing through him. He pulled a flask from his pocket and took a hit off it before looking up at Sam.

“So, it's just a girl?” Sam asks, eyeing him, but not commenting on the whiskey.

“It's not just a girl. It's psycho Nell. I'm telling you, man—humans.” Fucking humans who are dirty and evil and depraved just like all the demons of hell…because the demons of hell all came from humans. “I don't know. Maybe it's the daughter, Rebecca. Maybe she didn't hang herself.”

If Sam noticed the struggle Dean was fighting to function, he said nothing. “Dude, no. She'd have to be like fifty years old by now.”

“Well, I don't know. What'd you find in the attic?”

“Some old junk. I found Rebecca's diary. That's about it.”

“I wish you'd found a howitzer. Listen, we got to get this family safe. I mean, it's just a human, so they can make a run for it. We just got to hold her off.”

Of course it was never that simple. But at least with the kid missing it gave Dean a focus. “We’ll find him.”

The girl had to come from somewhere. She wasn’t a ghost, so she had to have ways to get around. Dean figured that she would take the kid wherever she felt the most comfortable and the kid had said she came from in the walls.

The problem with that was the closeness of the space. He was sweating before he was fully inside. He never used to have this much trouble in close spaces, not before waking up inside his coffin. “Okay, Dean. Focus,” he muttered to himself.

Ted was a nervous wreck behind him as they made their way through the crawl space between the walls, and he didn't improve when Dean found the hole in the floor. Not that Dean could really blame him. He wasn't the poster child for zen himself.

He lowered himself through the hole with Ted standing watch. Dean should have known that separating was a bad idea. He heard the scream and Ted's head fell through the hole. His stomach twisted and his heart pounded erratically as he covered his light and closed his eyes and fought the panic that welled up inside him. It was too dark and the smell of dead things filled his nose and it was too much like the place he was left to wait for them to be ready to torture him some more.

He couldn't move for a long time and when he finally did, there was nothing to be done but haul the dead body out of the house.

 

Sam knew Dean was strung too tight. Killing the boy had only wound him tighter. Sam watched him lower the impala off the jack and breathed a sigh of relief that they'd gotten through it with minimal losses.

They said their goodbyes and got into the car. "Motel." Sam said as soon as they were on the road.

Dean shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Lets put some miles behind us first."

"Dean, you're beat, I'm exhausted. We both need to sleep."

"I'm fine."

"Stop." Sam put his hand out and grabbed the steering wheel. Dean slapped his hand away. "I get it, okay? I do."

"You don't get anything." Dean groused, but he did pull them into the motel parking lot. "You don't."

Sam nodded, willing to concede that point. "Okay, maybe I don't. But I know about the dreams, Dean. I know that they terrify you. And I know you see Dad in every stranger's face we pass on the road, because so do I."

Sam turned in his seat to look his brother in the face. "But damn it Dean, if you don't get some sleep soon, you're gonna get both of us killed."

Dean put the car in park and closed his eyes. "Fine. You win. But I'm going to the liquor store. Get us a room."

Sam opened the door and got out. "Bring enough for me too."

He watched Dean pull out, headed for the small town and went to check them in. He texted Dean the room number once he had it and headed for the door, not surprised when his stomach dropped, heralding the presence of a demon nearby. He tensed, not sure which demon to expect. 

Ruby's small frame slipped out of shadows and slid in beside him. "You've been sticking awfully close to big brother these days."

"No, Ruby." Sam said, shaking his head and pushing her away. "Get out of here."

"What kind of come on is that?" Ruby asked with a pout. "You know you need what I can give you, if you're ever going to be ready to kill Lilith."

"No. I made a promise."

"Like the one you made before Dean headed downstairs?" Ruby asked, shoving him into the wall and pressing her hand to his cock. "You broke that one in days."

"I'm serious. I'm doing this his way." Sam pushed her away. "I don't want any more."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Is that so?"

He opened the door and she followed him in. "What are you doing here Ruby?"

"I should be asking you the same thing." She crossed her arms and looked at him, clearly pissed. "It would almost be funny if thirty-four seals hadn’t been broken already. Thirty-four, Sam! That’s over halfway."

The knot in his stomach twisted even tighter. His desire for what she offered him was burning in his throat. Just a taste. A little taste. It wouldn't hurt. Dean wouldn't have to know. His breathing was speeding up. She closed in on him, backing him toward the bed.

He sat heavily and she straddled his lap, drawing a blade from her belt. "The angels are losing this war." Ruby said, though her voice was sultry, seductive, not at all like she was delivering bad news. "Every day is one day closer and if someone doesn’t do something soon—"

Sam caught her hand before she sliced into her arm, pulling the blade away and standing abruptly. "And that someone is me?" He'd spent so many years of his life being what other people thought he should be that now her insistence rankled him instead of pushed him closer to what she wanted.

"Who else would it be?"

Irrational irritation streamed through him and he charged at her, then away again. "I don’t know where these seals are – I don’t know squat! So why don’t you tell me where you’d like me to start?"

"Well, you can quit dickin’ around here for one thing." Ruby growled at him. "Bigger fish, Sam. Yeah, your brother's had it bad and he needs someone to hold his hand and change his diapers, but you both had better fucking get over it." She was furious now too and her voice was lifting. "And if the seals are being broken? Ya might wanna go after the one doin’ the breaking. 

That at least was something he understood. "Lilith?"

"Cut the head of the snake. You’re the only one who can stop her, Sam." She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "So step up, and kill the little bitch."

Everything inside him itched to do that. It was Lilith that had made the deal with Dean, dragged him into the pit. Lilith was at the top of his list of demons to kill. "Oh, I’m game, believe me."

Ruby stopped at the door and turned to look at him. Sam's face paled. If she stayed much longer he'd give in. "It’s not the psychic thing I gotta problem with."

"Yeah, I know, what you got a problem with but tough, Sam. It’s the only way."

The room went quiet as she let that burn into him. He exhaled and shook his head tightly. "No."

"You know, this would all be so much easier if you just admit to yourself that you like it." Ruby said, crossing her arms.

Sam snorted and crosses his arms too. He wanted to deny it, but couldn't find the words.

Ruby's voice was back to that seductive tone. "That feeling that it gives you."

Sam swallowed around a sudden tightness. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Oh, I don’t, huh?" She stared at him, then turned for the door. "Fine." Her hand was on the doorknob, the door opening. Her head turned his way but she didn't fully look at him. "It’s simple. Lucifer rises, the apocalypse starts." Sam closed his eyes and turned his face away. "You think you have demons on your hands now? People are gonna die, Sam, oceans of people! So you just let me know when you’re ready."

She was gone when Sam opened his eyes.

He paced the small room, then grabbed the ice bucket and headed out to get ice. He did like it, even though it disgusted him. The way it heated him up from the inside out, the feeling of power that leeched out into his veins and pumped through his heart until he was buzzing with it. The strength it gave him.

He leaned his head against the ice machine and told himself he didn't need it. That he wasn't craving it.

"Oh, she's really got you twisted round, don't she?"

Sam jumped and turned.

The man leaning on the opposite wall had his father's stance, but was not his father. He was tall, nearly as tall as Sam and well built, but not bulky. Sam exhaled and let his vision shift the way Ruby had taught him. He could see him then, squatting inside the man. He wasn't as deformed as some demons he'd seen, which made sense because they'd all been older. His father was still a baby in relative terms.

"I should just yank you out of there and send you back to hell."

The thoughtful expression changed. Sam felt the invisible fingers on his throat and reached out with his power. "You don't have the juice, Sam. Haven't had your booster in a while, have you?" He shoved Sam into the machine and Sam lost the tentative grip he had on the slippery demon. "I could help you out there, Son." He brought his knee up between Sam's legs, grinding it into his cock as he raised his hands. The knife was huge, the blade glinting in the light. He sliced through the meet of his palm and grabbed Sam's chin with the other hand. "Open up."

"No." Sam struggled, but he was held tight and his father slowly forced his mouth open, dripping blood into him. Sam didn't swallow, but then the hand was covering his mouth and the invisible hand holding him was stroking his throat forcing a reflex action. The first flush was a shock, but his body responded, and he found himself sucking at the wound, drinking greedily as his father laughed at him. 

"That's my good boy." 

Strength flowed through him, his powers roaring to life. Sam shoved and pulled away, wiping his face on his sleeve before reaching out a hand and grabbing at the demon. "Stay away from us, so help me. Stay away from Dean."

He smiled. "See ya' round Sam."

Before Sam could pull him, the man opened his mouth and the demon roared out of him. Sam was still panting, staring at the unconscious body on the ground when Dean pulled up in the impala.

“Sam?”

Sam wiped his face again and again, first with his sleeve, then with his hand. 

“Sam?”

He swallowed the burning, the feeling of power and turned. “Dad…he…” Sam gestured at the man and shook his head.

“Did he hurt you?” Dean asked, instantly protective.

“Not…not really.” Sam shook his head, shivering as he remembered the touch. “He just…”

Dean grabbed him and shook him. “You can’t listen to him Sam. He isn’t Dad. Not anymore. He’s a demon and demon’s lie.”

“You’re one to talk.” Sam said before he could stop himself, regretting it instantly. “Dean—“

Dean let go of him and held up his hand. He went back to the car, pulling out a bag of take out and two bottles of whiskey. He thrust one at Sam wordlessly and gestured toward the room. Sam nodded and led the way, opening the door and putting his bottle down on the table.

Dean handed him a burger and went to the bed on the far side of the room. The bed creaked as he sat down. Sam listened to the rustling of the paper bag around the bottle and the turn of the cap as Dean opened it, the sound of Dean swallowing the low burn.

“Dean, I’m sorry.” He said it without turning, without looking. He could feel the demon blood inside him. He wanted more. Like a goddamn junkie and somehow he was afraid that Dean would see, would know.

“Eat your burger, Sammy. Drink your booze.” Dean swallowed more and the bed creaked again. “Sleep. That was your plan, right?”

Sam nodded and lifted his burger, but he wasn’t hungry, and he didn’t want the alcohol. “You sleep. I’m going to shower.” Sam left Dean slamming down whiskey and went to try to get himself clean.

 

_He's lost count of the souls, the endless parade of them, the ways he's hurt them, words and knives, whips, cat o'nine tails made of the bones of sinners and demons, nails and teeth. He's fucked them with his own cock, with his hand, with their own cocks, their own hands. He's perpetually covered in their blood, their gore._

_It's grown numbing as his father pulls him to the next. He's tall, this one and something about him reminds him of someone…he's all legs and arms and shaggy brown hair…and he fights as he's dragged to the rack, but he doesn't scream, doesn't yell._

_His father holds him back, holds him against a strong body to watch as they strap him down. "He looks like your brother."_

_Dean makes the connection slowly, surprised he hadn't before. "Sam."_

_His father nods, stubble scraping over Dean's skin. "Your brother who let you die."_

_That doesn't seem right, but Dean can't place why. "Your brother who was always jealous of you…hated you…he let you die."_

_"No…he…" But Dean can't finish the thought…it slips away as anger uncoils low in his gut._

_"He left you. Ran away after you gave him everything." John's voice is deep, eating into Dean, slithering around the anger, the vile, disgusting hatred in the words twisting inside him. "He went to her. Wanted nothing to do with you after you spent all those years keeping him safe."_

_John's hands rake over Dean's skin as they move a little closer to the rack. This isn't Sam, he can see that now…this is someone who looked enough like Sam he has to look close to see the differences._

_"He used you…dragged you on his vendetta when all you wanted was to have your family back together…he knew you'd do anything he wanted and he let you…let you save him over and over again…let him use you, put you down…never smart enough, never good enough…never let you in…he held you at arm's length…and when you sold yourself for him…" His hand circles Dean's cock, pulling hard and dry down its length. "He died Dean…he left you again…left you alone because he couldn't embrace who he really is…he was weak, Dean…he was weak and he died and you sold yourself to save him….sacrificed everything you've ever been…"_

_Dean's lips curl in snarl as they reach the rack, reach the broad expanse of bare skin. The cat o'nine tails in his hand is heavy. "He didn't save you…didn't even try…he let you go…he let you go to hell, Dean."_

_Dean hears himself growling, anger spilling through his veins, blinding him to anything but this Sam in front of him and he brings the punishing tool down over and over, ripping the back into shreds as the man whimpers, shakes and finally loses the battle to keep from yelling._

_Dean switches to a blade, a long handled knife, deepening wounds left by the tongues of the cat o'nine tails, cutting away pieces of skin. He drags the tip of the blade up the man's ass crack, catching on the hole and cutting to let blood flow. "He's the reason you're here….he's the reason you've been beaten and raped…he's the reason, Dean…he's up there cavorting with some girl while you're here…he isn't trying to get you back…he put you in a box and forgot you."_

_John's hand is on his cock, guiding him to the bloody ass. "Fuck him Dean…fuck your brother for what he's done to you. Show him your hatred. Take pleasure in hurting him, Dean."_

_Dean screams as he shoves himself into the man, as John shoves himself into Dean…screams and screams and screams, drowning out the man's own whimpering cries for mercy with something that might have been his brother's name, fury and despair roaring out of him, pleasure rushing in as he comes._

 

“Dean.”

Sam’s hand on his arm is like a hook dragging him up out of hell and Dean sits up, wild eyed and panting.

“You were screaming.” Sam said, offering him a cup of coffee.

A glance at the clock said that it was almost nine thirty, which means he’d actually slept before the dreams became too intense. Dean took the coffee with one hand, rubbing at his face with the other. “Nightmare.” Dean replied with a voice that sounded like he’d been screaming for hours.

Sam sat on the bed opposite and watched him. “Really? Because not all of it sounded exactly like a nightmare.”

Dean closed his eyes and put the coffee on the nightstand. He didn’t want to be having this conversation. He was tired of talking about something he couldn’t change. Tired of being terrified of every single shadow. “Sam…” He sighed and reached for the bottle of whiskey. It was almost half gone. He opened it and poured some into his coffee. 

“You okay?” Sam asked, watching him pour.

He wanted to ask what the fuck Sam thought the answer was. He wasn’t okay. He hadn’t been okay since Lilith and her hell hounds had dragged him to the pit. He took a big swallow of his coffee and considered that maybe he hadn’t been okay for a long time before that. “You know, I felt for those sons of bitches back there.” He looked up at Sam, hooks his thumb in the general direction of the farmhouse and the family that already seemed like it was days behind them. “Lifelong torture turns you into something like that.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking, but somehow he knew Sam caught on. He had changed. All those years of torment and he was nearly as twisted as their father.

“You were in hell, Dean. Look, maybe you did what you did there, but you're not them. They were barely human.”

Dean nodded. He sipped at his coffee and looked up to meet Sam’s eyes. He had to make Sam understand. “Yeah, you're right. I wasn't like them. I was worse. They were animals, Sam, defending territory. Me? I did it for the sheer pleasure.”

Horror crossed Sam’s face, though he tried to hide it. “You…What?”

He looked away, no longer able to keep looking at him. “I enjoyed it, Sam. They took me off the rack, and I tortured souls, and I liked it. All those years, all that pain. Finally getting to deal some out yourself. I didn't care who they put in front of me. Because that pain I felt, it just slipped away. No matter how many people I save, I can't change that. I can't fill this hole. Not ever.” He wiped at the single tear that fell and stood.

Sam was staring at him now, but he had to know, had to understand what was at stake. “No matter what I do now, Sam, there’s no going back. I’m never going to make it right.” He gulped down the whiskey heavy coffee. “That’s what Lilith wanted. To make me like her. That’s what Ruby is going to do to you.”

He rubbed at his face. “Hell, maybe that’s what Dad was warning me about in the first place.”

Sam stood and came toward Dean, but obviously wasn’t sure what to do. “I told you, no more Ruby. I sent her away.”

Dean sighed, tired down to his bones despite the sleep. “I could smell her Sam. She was here.”

“She was, and I sent her away, okay? I told her we’re doing this your way.” 

“And Dad?” Dean asked, looking up at him. “What did you tell him?”

Sam licked his lips, his eyes skipping away. “I told him no too.”

“Funny, he never did take no for an answer.” Dean said. There was a flair of jealousy in his stomach, which made no sense. He didn’t want his father touching either of them. Didn’t want to think about the things they’d done, about the way his father seemed to be able to force him to it even now.

“He left, Dean. I said no and he left.” Sam assured him. 

“Maybe, but he’ll be back, you know that, right?”

Sam nodded tightly. “I know.” He sighed and pointed at the table. “In the meantime, I think I found us a case.”

“Yeah, okay. I need a shower.”

 

Sam watched Dean sleep after he’d drugged his food. The sedatives would give him a better sleep and hopefully hold the dreams at bay. At least, that’s what Sam told himself. 

He was riding an edge and he knew it. 

He stepped out of the room, closing the door as quietly as he could. It was becoming more and more obvious that Dean was not going to pull his shit together and that left it to Sam to do whatever was necessary.

He checked the knife at his belt, Ruby’s knife before he pulled the flask from his back pocket. Ruby had left it for him, under his pillow with a note telling him to come to his senses.

His hands shook. He hadn’t taken any. He’d been concentrating on the job, on Dean and getting through the hunt, but now…now he could feel it call to him. He wanted it.

More than that. He needed it. 

To save Dean. To save the world. Stop the apocalypse. 

It was too much to ask any normal person.

But Sam? He hadn’t been normal since a yellow eyed demon had fed him his first drops of demon blood when he was six months old. He opened the flask and tilted it back, closing his eyes as the dark blood flowed into his mouth.

A shiver ran through him as the blood burned down the back of his throat, spreading fingers through him. The rush of power that came with it was stronger than usual and suddenly he could feel the streets around him, the heartbeats of the people, the heat of the pavement, for miles. He could feel two demons as well, circling closer to him, drawn by his presence. 

One of them was Ruby. Sam knew her scent like he knew Dean’s. He headed toward her, catching her by surprise and spinning her into the alley. He shoved her into the wall, nipping at her lips as she gasped in surprise.

“Shit, Sam.” She kissed him eagerly enough though, clutching him closer. She pulled back and looked at him suddenly. “Who juiced you up?”

He bit down on her neck, drawing blood and licking at it greedily until she melted against him. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m glad you’re doing the right thing.”

“Shut up, Ruby.” Sam growled, his hands opening her jeans. She was eager enough for that too, helping him pull them down and stepping out on one side. She opened his jeans, kissing him as she pulled his mostly hard cock out and stroked it to full hardness.

He lifted her and pressed her into the wall, sliding into her easily and fucking her hard, his mouth moving back to the wound he’d already made in her neck. 

“Not that I’m not grateful, but what changed your mind?” Ruby asked breathlessly.

“That would be me,” a deep voice said behind them.

Sam froze, Ruby impaled on his cock and pressed into the wall as he came, and Ruby’s eyes went wide. “You!”

The knife was out of its sheath and buried in Ruby’s stomach before Sam could react. “No!” He started to pull away, but a hand shoved him tight against the dead body as another yanked his jeans down.

“Oh, yes, Sammy. Been waiting for this a long time.”

He struggled, fighting to get a grip on the demon and pull it out, but behind him his father laughed. “You can keep trying…but it won’t work.”

A big body was pressed into him, fingers between them, shoving into him. “Stop.” Sam pushed back as hard as he could. 

His father only chuckled in return. “You know how many times your brother said that before he stopped? Just relax, Sam. The more you fight it, the more it hurts. So keep fighting. I like it when it hurts.”

Sam’s world focused down to the cooling body that had been Ruby and the feeling of invasion as a cock penetrated him. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. His father was swift and brutal and when his come flooding Sam’s ass, the smell of blood lifted in the air, a bloody hand pressed to Sam’s mouth. 

The blood filled his mouth and he swallowed, closing his eyes and hating himself for wanting it as much as he did. 

When his father finally stepped back, Sam sank to his knees, catching Ruby’s borrowed body and easing it to the ground. The man his father was wearing was in a suit and tie and trench coat, which made Sam think of Castiel briefly. He tucked himself in and zipped up his pants before squatting next to Sam.

He eased a hand over Ruby’s face. “No one touches my boys, Sam. No one.” He leaned in and kissed Sam’s forehead. “Now I really have to go. Alistair is working on something and I really should go help…before he sends me downstairs for disobedience.” He dropped the knife and walked away.

Sam sat for a long time, holding the lifeless body. When he did move, it was stiff and slow and gingerly. His violated ass burned as he eased his pants up over it. He had to get them out of town. Whatever plan Alistair was hatching, they didn’t need to be anywhere near it, and he needed to figure out why his powers weren’t working right. He should have been able to pull a low level demon like his father.

He eased the door open and slipped inside, hoping Dean would stay asleep. He wanted to shower and burn his clothes. Dean could never know. Never. Only, before he could get to the bathroom, Dean’s voice stopped him.

“Sam.”

He turned, but didn’t look at his brother. 

“You promised.”

Sam nodded, pulled the knife and held it up, reaching and putting it on the dresser. “She’s dead, Dean. Ruby won’t be bothering us anymore.”

It wasn’t a lie, but somehow it felt like one. Dean would think he’d done it, that he’d killed Ruby and the old fashioned way, not using his powers. Sam turned on the hot water and stripped out of his clothes, his hands shaking. The demon blood flowed inside him, made him itchy and restless.

It was stronger somehow, though maybe it was just that there was more of it…He stepped in under the weak flow of water and willed it to wash away the pain and disgust. 

He’d drank from the flask first. He’d assumed it had come from Ruby, but maybe he was wrong. It tasted different.

Sam turned his face up into the spray, opening his mouth and letting the water fill it, wash away the taste. Maybe he was losing his mind. 

Ruby was gone. His connection to whatever the demons were planning severed.

They were on their own.

 

It had been weeks since Ruby.

Sam hardly spoke, but then neither did Dean. They hunted through a ghost possession, both of them on edge, staring down a past that seemed worlds away from where they were now.

For what it was worth, they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Alistair or their father or the angels either. It had been almost quiet. 

Almost normal.

Almost.

Except for nothing was ever normal for them anymore. They pretended. They drove and checked into motels and ate crappy food and scoured newspapers. When it had been a few days since Dean had actually slept, Sam slipped him sedatives and they both pretended he didn’t.

Thing was, these days, Sam wasn’t sleeping much either. Dean would watch him pretend to, same way he did. And when Dean was the more convincing of the two, he’d watch through mostly closed eyes as Sam got up and paced, or slipped out of the room and come back hours later looking worse than when he left.

Dean woke to the horn of diesel truck on the highway outside the hotel and started up, looking instinctively to Sam’s bed. It had been another night Sam drugged him and he can still feel the heavy feeling. Sam’s bed is rumpled, but Sam isn’t in it.

“Yeah.” Sam’s voice is low and it rumbles through the bathroom door, pulling Dean’s attention. “Yeah, no, no, that’s what I’m telling you. No storm. No bad crops. Nothing. Yeah. Yeah, ok...we’ll keep looking. You keep looking, too, ok? Alright; talk soon.”

Dean is suspicious, because Sam has been hiding more and more all the time. He laid back on the bed and closed his eyes, not wanting Sam to know he’d been listening. Sam smacked his leg with his shaving kit.

“Hey! Up and a’tem, kiddo.”

Dean rolled onto his side and squinted up at him. “You’re up early. What are you doin’?”

Sam looked away, tossing his bag into his duffle and shrugging. “I was in the can.”

“Yeah?”

Sam snorted and smirked at him. “Yeah, want me to draw you a picture?”

“Naw, I’ll pass.” He sat up rubbing his eyes. Sam had been up long enough that he was fully dressed and there was a cup of crappy hotel coffee on the table.

“Found a job. Bedford, Iowa. Guy beat his wife’s brains out with a meat tenderizer.” Sam said, holding out his hand with a newspaper in it.

“Yikes.” Dean took the paper and started to scan the article.

“Yeah, get this; third local inside two months to gank his wife for no reason. No priors on any of ‘em; all happily married.”

“Sounds like Ozzy and Harriet.”

“More like The Shining.” Sam countered.

Dean nodded and stood, tossing the paper on the bed. “Alright, then I guess we better have a look.”

They were both on edge as they drove into Bedford. Sam’s phone rang twice and he ignored it after glancing at the screen, then set it to vibrate and tucked it into his pocket.

“Something you need to tell me?” Dean asked as they checked into yet another motel.

Sam shook his head. “No. Wrong numbers. I’ve been getting them a lot.”

He chucked his duffle onto the bed. “So how you want to play this?”

Dean looked at him for a long minute, then looked away. He could focus on the job too. Hell, it was the only thing keeping him from losing his shit.

“We should talk to this latest wife killer, see if there were any signs of possession to start with.”

“Yeah, okay. Suits it is. I’ll get them out of the car.” He dropped his jacket on the bed and grabbed the keys from Dean’s hand.

When the door closed, Dean fished Sam’s phone out of his pocket and thumbed the buttons to pull up the call log. Most of the numbers are his and Bobby’s, but there are a few Dean doesn’t recognize and there are no names attached.

While he’s holding it, a call came in from one of those numbers. He jumped, glancing around him before pressing the button.

“I know you liked it Sam. I know you want more. I have what you need Son. Meet me tonight. I need to see you. I need to tell you about—“

Dean hung up, closing his eyes. The voice was his father’s. He dropped the phone back into Sam’s jacket.

The door opened and Dean turned to look at Sam, making his face looked pissed instead of freaked out.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Fine. Lets do this.”

This turned into a waste of time, at least until Dean figured out that he got to go investigate in a stripper joint. All three of the guys who’d offed someone had spent a lot of time and a lot of money at a club downtown.

Only that wasn’t leading him much of anywhere either and while the owner of the club walked away, Dean got the distinct feeling he was being watched. Hell, it was the perfect place for demons. His father or Alistair could be there, squatting in any of these skeevy business men.

He turned, seeing Sam and crossing over to him, only a little distracted by the naked flesh on the stage. Sam cleared his throat as Dean stopped, pulling his attention.

“Any luck?” Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. “No, you?”

“A little. Ah, I just talked to Bobby. We officially have a theory.” He put both hands in his pockets and made a face.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Siren.” Sam replied.

“Like Greek myth Siren? The odyssey?” Dean rolled his eyes at his brother’s apparent shock. “Hey, I read.”

“Yeah, actually, but the Siren isn’t actually a myth, it’s more of a beautiful creature that preys on men. Entice them with their Siren Song.” Sam supplied, his eyes straying to the dancer nearby, then back to Dean.

“So they do their thing and the guys zombie out.” Dean nodded. Damn fucking creatures and their damn creepy shit. 

“Basically, yeah. Sirens lived on islands, sailors would chase them completely, ignoring the rocky shores and dash themselves to pieces.”

“Sounds like Adam and his buddies.” Dean looked around them as Sam did the same.

“Yeah. If you’re a Siren in ’09 looking to ruin a bunch of morons where would you set up shop?”

Right. There wasn’t a better place actually. Every guy in the joint is looking for his dream girl, someone to help him forget his pissy little life and offer him some kind of fantasy. “So whatever floats the guys boat, that’s what they look like?” 

“Yeah, they can read minds. They see what you want most and then they can kinda, like, cloak themselves, you know, like an illusion.”

Which meant that at least they were just looking for one person. But that one person could be anyone in the room. Just fucking fantastic. “How do we kill it?”

“Bobby’s workin’ on it. But even if we figure that out-“

Dean nodded understanding. “How the hell are we gonna find her. Could be anybody.”

They left the club and headed out into the late afternoon. “So, I’m thinking I should try to talk to the other men.” Sam said. 

Dean nodded in agreement. “I’ll stay here for a little while, see if I can get an idea for who our siren might be.”

“Just…don’t get distracted, Dean.” Sam said, sounding kind of annoyed.

“Dude, I’m working a case.”

“In a strip joint.” Sam shook his head. “I’m going to swing by the motel. Bobby was sending me some information I might need.”

“I’ll meet you back there.” 

Dean watched him go, then grinned and headed back inside. In an hour he’d seen plenty of fake boobs, but was no closer to a clue to the identity of the siren. He left as the sun was setting and headed back to the motel. Sam wasn’t back yet, but he had books from the car all over the room. 

The computer was open and on the books next to the computer was Sam’s phone. Dean crossed to it and stared at it. With a shaking hand, he picked it up, glancing around to make sure Sam really wasn’t there. He checked the call log. There were at least four more calls from random numbers.

And one outgoing call to one of those numbers. Dean’s thumb hesitated over the talk button…but then he pushed it and held his breath.

“Sam…miss me already?” It was a woman’s voice. “Sam?” Dean ended the call and put the phone down. Some woman. Whose name wasn’t in the phone.

The door opened and Dean stepped away from the table. 

“Lenny Bristol was definitely another Siren vic.”

Dean swallowed and crossed his arms, trying not to look like he’d just been reading his brother’s diary…or eavesdropping on his love life. “Got in to see him?”

Sam pulled his jacket off and closed the door. “Yeah, said he brought a stripper home named Belle, couple of hours later he offed his mother. Belle, of course, went MIA.” 

Dean started for the bathroom, then stopped. “Wait, he killed his mom?”

Sam shrugged and nodded. “Woman he was closet to.”

The phone on the table started to ring and Dean and Sam both looked at it. “Oh, yeah, you, ah, forgot your cell phone.”

Dean went into the bathroom, running the water and splashing it onto his face before reaching for a towel. 

“Ah, no. And it doesn’t seem that she’s slowin’ down any. What about you? Got anything?” Sam mouthed Bobby’s name and Dean nodded. 

Sam listened for a moment. “Hold on a sec, I’m gonna put you on speaker.”

He pressed a button on the phone and set it down.

“It says you need a bronze dagger covered in the blood of a sailor under the spell of the song.” Bobby said.

“What the hell does that mean?” Dean asked.

“You got me.” Bobby replied. “We’re dealing with three thousand years of the telephone game here.”

“Best guess?” Sam asked.

“Well, the Siren’s spell ain’t got nothin’ to do with any song. It’s most likely some kinda toxin or venom. Something she gets in the vic’s blood.” Bobby supplied.

“And that makes them go all Manchurian Candidate.” Sam chewed on his lip for a second. “What do you think, she infects the men during sex?”

“Maybe.” Bobby agreed.

“Supernatural STD.” Dean shivered. He didn’t like this case so much anymore.

“Well, however it happens, once it’s done, the Siren’s gotta watch her back. She gets a dose of her own medicine- “

“And it kills her.” Sam said.

“I haven’t got any clue where you’re gonna get the blood you need.” Bobby sounded worried.

“I think I might have an idea.” He looked at Dean, his eyes bright.

“Be careful. These things are tricky bitches. Wrap ya up in knots before you know what hit ya.”

“We will, Bobby. Thanks.” Sam pressed the button to end the call. “Lets go. I know where we can get the blood we need.”

Dean was skeptical when they pulled up in front of the hospital, and there was a moment of panic when the other fed showed up, but it was pretty clear the lady doctor was not into him and Sam would have a better chance, so he took the fed and headed back to stripperville.

 

He was never far away anymore, not with everything so close. Nothing could get in the way of the plan, and that included some low rent siren getting its jollies making his boys kill each other.

He can hear them through the door, all their dirty little secrets pouring out all over the place.

“Well, I dunno when it happened. Maybe when I was in Hell. Maybe when I was starin’ right at you. But the Sam I knew; he’s gone.” Dean said. 

Sam’s voice is cold as he responds. “That so?”

“And it’s not the demon blood or the psychic crap...it’s the little stuff. The lies. The secrets.” Dean continues. 

John can taste his anger, the violence boiling in his blood. It reminds him of the way Dean was when they worked together, side by side, making souls scream for mercy. 

“Oh yeah, what secrets?”

“Your secret phone calls, the late night demon booty calls.”

“I told you, Ruby’s dead.”

“Don’t mean you haven’t found another hell-bitch, Sam. And what about the fucking calls from Dad?”

“Dad’s dead, Dean. I don’t answer.”

“But you’re hiding things from me. What else aren’t you telling me?” 

“None of your business.”

John wished he could be in the room to watch the way this was going to play out, but he needed a body to take out the siren.

“See what I mean? We used to be in this together. We used to have each other’s backs!”

Sam’s anger reverberated off the walls. He was close to exploding. “Ok, fine, you wanna know why I didn’t tell you about Ruby? Why I don’t tell you about hunting down Lilith? Because you’re too weak to go after her, Dean. You’re holding me back. I’m a better hunter than you are. Stronger, smarter; I can take out demons you’re too scared to go near.”

“That’s crap.” Dean yelled.

Sam wasn’t about to stop though. “You’re too busy sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, whining about all the souls you tortured in Hell, boo-hoo and how you got fucked…and you’re forgetting something Dean. You aren’t the only one.” 

John needed a body because this was going to go to a place where one of them would actually kill the other if someone didn’t intervene, and they needed both of them warm and functional.

He backed away from the door and raced the halls, stopping when a familiar face came off an elevator. Bobby’s footsteps hesitated for a moment, but the sound of a door crashing open spurred him to move faster. 

Sam was on his back on top of the broken door, struggling to get to his feet, but Dean was already up and breaking the glass to get to a fire axe.

The fucking siren was in the door, grinning wildly. “Do it. Do it for me, Dean.”

“Tell me again how weak I am, Sam. How I hold you back!” Dean growled, the axe coming up for the first blow.

Bobby grabbed at the axe, stopping him, and plunging a knife into Dean’s shoulder before throwing it and nailing the fleeing siren in the back.

Sam and Dean were both bruised and looking more than a little shell shocked. Bobby stood up after examining the body, looked around as if he could feel John there. Sam stood shakily and John knew that he knew.

_”No one touches my boys, Sammy.”_

Sam shivered, then reached to help Dean up. 

Closer. Every day he was pushing them closer to the edge. And one day soon, he was going to take them both over the brink.

 

Sam was unsettled. It was more than the funeral, or the words Pam had whispered to him as she died. It was more than being on a first name basis with a reaper or the icy silence between him and Dean.

He drove them back toward the motel, looking for some way to reach through the wall that had built up between them since the thing with the siren. "So, I've been thinking."

Dean sighed, but said nothing.

"Ruby had been tracking some leads." Sam glanced aside, but Dean just looked out the window. "Up in Cheyenne. I know you didn't like—"

"Hey, man, I don't really give a rat's ass." Dean said

"What's your problem?" Sam asked, his voice harsher than he means it to be.

Dean sighed and shifted in his seat. "Pamela didn't want anything to do with this and we dragged her back into it, Sam."

Sam glanced at him, not liking the defeat in his eyes. "She knew what was at stake."

"Oh yeah. Saving the world. And we're doing such a damn good job of it."

He made the turn off the highway and into the parking lot. "Dean—"

"I'm tired of burying friends, Sam."

That he understood. He was too. "Look, we catch a fresh trail—"

Dean cut him off. "And we follow it, I know. Like I said, I'm just getting tired."

Sam knew tired. He did, but he needed Dean. He needed Dean to get in the game. "Well, get angry." Sam said, turning off the engine.

Dean led him to the door. "Ah, home crappy home."

Sam reached around him to turn on the lights.

"Winchester and Winchester." Sam froze, but Dean just cursed under his breath as they realized both Uriel and Castiel are there, clearly waiting for them.

"Oh come on." Dean groused, crossing to the counter where he'd left his bottle of whiskey.

"You are needed." Uriel replied.

"Needed? We just got back from needed." Dean growled, pouring a shot into the motel glass.

"Mind your tone with me." Uriel warned, moving closer.

"No, you mind your damn tone with us." Dean countered, his own voice growing dark and dangerous.

Sam stepped in between them, trying to placate the both of them. "We just got back from Pamela's funeral."

That only seemed to bug Dean more. "Pamela. You know, psychic Pamela? You remember her. Cas, you remember her. You burned her eyes out. Remember that? Good times. Yeah, then she died saving one of your precious seals. So maybe you can stop pushing us around like chess pieces for five freaking minutes!" He downed the whiskey and turned away.

"We raised you out of hell for our purposes." Uriel was clearly no more placated than Dean was.

"Yeah, what were those again? What exactly did you want from me?"

Uriel moved closer, bristling. "Start with gratitude."

"Dean, we know this is difficult to understand." Castiel offered, a hand on Uriel's arm. Uriel gave him a withering look and Castiel backed off.

"And we don't care. Now, seven angels have been murdered, all of them from our garrison. The last one was killed tonight."

At least that was something more than posturing. Dean turned to look at him. "Demons? How they doing it?"

"We don't know." Uriel admitted.

Sam was the one irritated now. "I'm sorry, but what do you want us to do about it? I mean, a demon with the juice to ice angels has to be out of our league, right?"

Uriel straightened his back and looked at Sam like he was dirt. "We can handle the demons, thank you very much."

"Once we find whoever it is." Castiel said.

Dean shook his head. "So…what? You need our help hunting a demon?"

Castiel glanced at Uriel, then Dean. "Not quite. We have Alastair."

Sam didn't like how that sounded. Something wasn't right with this visit. Something was very wrong. Uriel was glaring at Sam now. Dean poured another drink. "Great. He should be able to name your trigger man."  
There was sympathy in Castiel's eyes when he looked at Dean. "But he won't talk. Alastair's will is very strong. We've arrived at an impasse."

Dean rolled his eyes and lifted his glass, but didn't drink. "Yeah, well, he's like a black belt in torture. I mean, you guys are out of your league."

Uriel took the glass from Dean and put it on the counter. "That's why we've come to his student. You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we've got."

Dean looked down, away from the angels, away from Sam. He shook his head. Sam could almost feel the way he cracked in half inside.  
"Dean, you are our best hope." Castiel doesn't sound completely convinced, but he is resigned to the need.

"No. No way." Dean pushed his way through the two of them, still shaking his head. His whole body is tense, tight, ready to break apart. "You can't ask me to do this, Cas. Not this."

Uriel was snarling as he whirled on Dean. "Who said anything about asking?"

And just like that, they were gone. All three of them. Sam was alone. "Fuck." He turned around, panic flaring inside him. Dean couldn't do what they wanted. Not and keep any sense of himself. "Damn it."

He pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at it. He had no one to call for something like this. Bobby couldn't help. Time was he'd have called Ruby.

He flipped the phone open and paged through the recent calls. 

No.

He wasn't considering that. Not for a minute.

He paced the room, opened the door twice to leave, but he didn't know where to go. The third time he opened the door, a man was standing there. Sam blinked and realized it was his father.

"Hello Sam."

"I told you to stay away." Sam responded, though his voice lacked the conviction of his words. "I don't want you here."

"Is that any way to talk to your father, Sammy? After I saved your life?" He shoved Sam back into the room. 

"Dean told me you belong to Alistair. If you've come to get me to tell you where he is, you're in the wrong place. I don't know where he is."

"No, that's not why I'm here. I know where he is." John said, closing the door. "Who do you think made sure he was trapped until the angels got there to snatch him?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What?"

John pinned him with a look, a leer. "I told you. No one touches my boys."

Sam backed away as his father turned to look at him. He'd chosen a host that resembled the man he used to be, dark hair, scruffy facial hair that was well beyond five o'clock shadow, but not fully a beard, at least as tall as Sam and broad at the shoulders. He smiled.

"You want to get Dean back, I want Alistair dead. I help you, you help me."

Sam stepped back again, his legs hitting the bed and he sat to keep from falling. "How…I mean…" He rubbed a hand over his face. What did he mean? He wasn't even sure.

"I know where the big boys are keeping the bastard, I know what they want Dean to do. You know once he does, he won't ever come back from it." John came closer. "I know how to kill him. I just can't do it myself."

Sam swallowed and dared a look up at him. "Tell me where he is, I'll kill him." 

John laughed and shook his head. "You will, huh? With what, Sam? You're almost out of juice. It's eating you up how much you want more."

Sam stood abruptly, exhaling. "Well, maybe if you hadn't killed Ruby I'd be in better shape."

"Bitch needed killing." John said with a shrug. "She ain't the only demon that can bleed for you Sam." John held up his arm.

Sam shook his head. "No. There has to be another way."

John conceded the point and put his arm down. "To kill Alistair? Even my blood ain't enough for that, Son. You need to drink deep of something far older and far more 'round the bend than me for that. He's high level, king of the world kind of bastard…bends a knee to no one in hell but that bitch Lilith and her puppet master."

Sam shivered. "Lucifer? He's locked up tight."

John smiled and it was a frightening sight. "So's Lilith."

Sam's heart stopped for a second as he looked at his father. Not the flesh holding him, but the demon inside him, the black inky essence that had once been John Winchester. "What did you say?"

"I have Lilith right where I want her. Waiting for us. I can take you to her, keep her bound while you take what you need, and then we can go together to free your brother."

It was a trap. It had to be a trap. Sam shook his head and paced. "Tell me how to find her. I'll do it myself."

"Oh no, my plan, my way." John replied. 

Sam didn't trust him. He knew better. "What's the catch?"

John shook his head. "No catch. Simple deal. You give me what I want, I give you what you want. We both walk away."

"Dean alive for Alistair dead?" Sam clarified. 

His father smiled. "Yes."

"Okay, tell me about this plan." His heart hammered in his chest. This was wrong, but the angels hadn't left him any choices here. Dean wasn't strong enough to do what needed doing, and if his father was taking him to Lilith, Sam would kill her too, and the rest of the seals would stay intact and Lucifer would stay buried.

"Well, it starts with you getting naked." John said, raising an eyebrow.

"Not gonna happen." Sam crossed his arms.

"You need the blood, I need to have sex. Simple math really."

"Just take me to Lilith."

John snorted. "Like you'd even make it past the perimeter in your condition."

"Perimeter?"

"You think we're just gonna stroll on up and let ourselves in the back door? You're gonna have to work some of that mojo on the guards."

"I thought you said you had her locked up."

He shrugged again. "Locked up, hidden…whatever. She's someplace we can get to her. Are you in, or do you really want to watch the world tear itself to pieces?"

"Give me a minute." Sam said, stalling while he tried to find another way, any way.

"Time's a wasting, Sam."

He was going to regret this. No matter what he did. But he would regret it more if he sat here and did nothing while the world burned and Dean lost himself. It was just sex. It was some stranger and sex. He could live with that. 

"What…" He cleared his throat. "How…"

Hands were on his belt before the sound died and he struggled for a minute in panic. "Go on and fight, Boy. I don't mind. Just makes it take longer and hurt more."

Sam closed his eyes and pulled his hands away, letting his father strip him like he was a child. John shoved him back onto the bed then, following as soon as he'd shed his pants. His cock was hard and full and big and Sam started to hyperventilate when John set a long bladed knife and a packet of lube on the bed beside him.

"Want you on your back so I can watch you drink." 

Sam's body was rigid, but he was no match for his father's yanking and pulling him into place, spreading his legs open and shoving a pillow up under his ass tilting his hips. "Did I hurt you the last time?" John asked. 

Sam turned his face away. "What do you think?" He tensed as a finger invaded him and closed his eyes. "Just get it over with."

"I want to enjoy this, Sammy. Savor it, like I did with Dean…all that time in hell. He was so pliable, so giving." He shoved a second finger inside him and Sam hissed.

"I thought you fucking brought lube." Sam growled through clenched teeth.

John stopped and looked down at him. "Oh, you wanted me to use it?"

"Get off me." Sam shoved at him and tried to get away, but he was pinned. Fucking demons. 

"Now, now." He lifted the little packet of lube and popped it open. "Lets not forget why we're here." 

Sam fought the panic as his father spilled lube over his borrowed fingers, then shoved three of them inside Sam's ass. "Better?"

He laid back, covered his face with his hands. His father's fingers moved inside him, then pulled out. Sam held his breath was he felt the first touch of the cock. Tears burned at the corner of his eyes. _Dean._ This was for Dean. Sam exhaled. "Shit." It was too much, too slow…too something and he was starting to panic when John started to withdraw finally. 

"Just getting started, Boy." He shoved in again and Sam grunted. He made a few quick thrusts, then buried himself in deep and held himself there, reaching for Sam's flaccid cock. "What's the matter, Sammy…don't I get you hot?"

Sam growled through his hands that still covered his face. 

"I bet I know something that will." He felt the shift as John reached for the knife, then warm drops of blood hit his hands. Sam's hands moved almost without thinking about it, the blood dripping over Sam's lips. He licked at them, then looked up to the arm bleeding a steady stream down at him.

The arm lowered until Sam could open his mouth and cover it, sucking the heat into him. Only then did John continue his fucking, Sam's cock hardening as the power flowed into him. "That's my boy."

Sam ignored him, falling back to the pillows, panting as John's cock filled him and John's hand pulled up his cock until Sam was fighting not to come. John didn't have that problem and his come was hot like liquid fire inside him.

Once he was done though, he seemed to stop worrying about Sam, climbing off the bed and back into his pants. “You might want to clean up. You stink like a used whore.”

Sam got up, trembling from head to toe as he moved around John and into the bathroom. He couldn’t look in the mirror as he started the shower. Come dripped out of him as he stepped into the small tub and blood reddened the water flowing over him as he turned his face into the water.

His cock was hard still and his body was alive with the energy that came with the blood. It made him itchy to use it. If he didn’t need his father…He shook his head. Not his father. Not any more.

Except for the mannerisms and the way he spoke. That was so John Winchester Sam could almost see the man.

Sam forced himself to put it aside. It was no different than working with Ruby. It was a means to and end. Kill Lilith, find Dean. Then it would all be over.

 

Dean held himself very tight and very still as he looked through the door at Alistair chained inside an elaborate devil’s trap. The two angels were behind him and Dean’s stomach is filled with a cold fury.

“This devil's trap is old Enochian. He's bound completely.” Castiel offered, as if that somehow made this any better.

“Fascinating.” Dean responded dryly. He turned away from Alistair and scanned the building. “Where's the door?”

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked, his face passive.

Dean exhaled and pushed past Uriel. “Hitch back to Cheyenne, thank you very much.” He stopped when Uriel was blocking his path again, just like that.

“Angels are dying, boy.”

“Everybody's dying these days. And hey, I get it. You're all-powerful. You can make me do whatever you want. But you can't make me do this.” I won’t do this, Dean told himself, though there’s a growing part of himself that actually does want to. He closed his eyes, pushing away the memory of hot blood on his hands, on his face, intestines spilling over his skin.

“This is too much to ask, I know. But we have to ask it.” Castiel’s voice was soft, but it intruded on the images and pulled Dean back to the moment. Dean looked at the angel, trying to decide if he means it or if it is just another attempt to pull his chain. He scratched at his head and looked at Uriel. “I want to talk to Cas alone.”

Uriel crossed his arms. “Really.”

His control of the rage inside him was slipping. “If you want a snowball's chance of me going in there, then you're gonna shag ass and let us talk.”

Uriel looked pointedly at Castiel, then inclined his head. “I think I'll go seek revelation. We might have some further orders.”

“Well, get some donuts while you're out.” Dean turned away, shaking his head. His eyes are drawn back to the door that leads to Alistair. He didn’t look at Castiel as he asked the question. “What's going on, Cas? Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?”

Castiel came to stand at his side. “My superiors have begun to question my sympathies.”

“Your sympathies?” Dean wanted to laugh because from his place on the sidelines he wasn’t seeing sympathies, just road blocks and interference.

“I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You.” Dean could feel those eyes on him, but didn’t look at the angel. “Even to your brother. They feel I've begun to express emotions. The doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment.”

Dean sighed. So they knock you down the ladder and put Uriel in charge?”

“He is a proud and able instrument of God.”

Dean looked away from the demon in the next room again, twisting and pushing the anger inside down. “Well, tell Uriel, or whoever...you do not want me doing this, trust me.”

Castiel touched his shoulder, his hand naturally covering the mark he left when he pulled Dean out of the pit. “Want it, no. But I have been told we need it.”

Dean didn’t want to open that door. Didn’t want to become the thing he’d been down there, in his father’s hands, carving and ripping souls to shreds. He’d lost himself in the pleasure of it, and he would again if he let himself think that way again, if he let himself remember the dreams of exactly how he would hurt his tormentors.

“Cas, the things that I did, what I became...” Dean closed his eyes and breathed in deep, letting it out slowly to try to keep it closed up just a little longer. “You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out.”

“You know what we're all fighting for. And dying for. What Pamela lost her life for.” Castiel’s voice was not its usual commanding self. Dean looked up, into a face close to his, eyes filled with sympathy and concern. It was too much. “You know what will happen if we fail. For what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.”

"You know he won't tell me anything real." Dean tried.

Castiel just looked at him with that mix of compassion and desperation. "But we must try."

Dean closed his eyes again, that expression more than he could manage. “I'll need a few things.”

“I will get you anything you need.” Castiel responded sincerely.

Dean let go of the doors that kept him from falling into the dark abyss at the center of who he had become and turned his eyes on Alistair through the small window in the door. “This is going to get messy.”

 

John was frustrated by the stalling Sam was doing. He’d figured that once he’d gotten the boy past the fucking it would all go his way. But he had underestimated the kid. Not the first time for that.

“She’s in there.” He gestured at the house where Lilith was hiding out, waiting for her next needed appearance to keep things rolling. Getting in wasn’t going to be a problem. She knew him, knew he worked for Alistair, and since they knew Alistair was being held by angels, she’d be expecting him to come to her for instruction.

Sam eyed the house. “I figure five on the outside. More inside.” Sam said.

“Can you take them all at once?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe. If I’m close enough.” 

“Give me the knife.” John held out his hand.

“What?” There was suspicion in his eyes as his hand fell on the knife.

“I need it to get her pinned. Won’t kill her, but with the right mojo behind it I can trap her with it.”

Sam didn’t trust him, that was easy to see, but he slowly pulled the knife from his belt. “I get it back when we’re done.”

John grinned. “When we’re done, you won’t need it.”

“But you’re giving it back to me anyway.” Sam growled.

“Fine, have it your way.” John replied. He looked his son over. “You ready?”

Sam closed his eyes. “Can we just get it over with?”

“I’m going to go in with the knife, distract her, get close. Give me five minutes, then blast away.” John started to move but Sam stopped him.

“What about you? If I just pull, you’ll get yanked too?”

The kid really hadn’t caught on yet. “You worry about them. I’ll take care of myself.”

Truth was, he’d ensured the kid couldn’t pull him, the same way old yellow eyes had, the same way Ruby had. The boy belonged to him now and had since the first time his blood had passed his lips.

The demons guarding the door let him in without question and even Lilith’s inner circle parted for him.

The floor around her was littered with dead bodies and the smile on her face was lazy when he stopped beside her. “Well, well, the littlest demon comes running to mommy when Daddy goes missing?”

John hid his disgust. “Just following orders.”

Her smiled faded some and she waved everyone else out of the room. She reclined back on the lounge, her fingers trailing into the blood of the man nearest her. "Tell me."

He moved closer. Any moment now Sam would strike and he needed to be close enough to keep her in place. "Sam's almost ready for you." John said.

She grinned and closed her eyes. Perfect.

The blast came and John took the last step, slamming the knife into her stomach and into the lounge under her, pinning her.

Lilith screamed and he back handed her across the jaw as he spoke the words that would temporarily bind her to the body. He was nearly finished when Sam burst through the door. "Took you long enough."

Sam was wobbly, his nose bleeding. 

John shook his head. "Get over here." He pushed Sam to his knees next to Lilith. He pulled a second knife from his boot and sliced her arms open. 

"You filthy fuck. I'm going to gut you."

John grinned down at her. "Not before he drinks you to within an inch of your miserable life, bitch." Sam looked up at him, his eyes dark.

"I'm going to kill her." Sam growled.

John smiled. "Not just yet, Sam. We need her. Don't worry. You can kill her later, I promise."

Of course, he was lying, but the kid would figure that out eventually. Lilith was fighting the spell, but she was losing strength as Sam drank. John dipped his fingers into the blood oozing out around the knife and drew the rune on her forehead. 

"Keep drinking." John shoved Sam's head back toward the bloody arm in his hands as he dipped his fingers again, ripping her shirt open to draw the next rune on her stomach.

Lilith's eyes closed, her arms slack. John let Sam continue drinking another moment or two before he grabbed a fist full of hair and dragged him away. "Enough."

Sam's eyes were black, his face bloody. He hissed and tried to pull away. "I want her dead."

"You do your part first." John insisted. "I'm going to put her on ice, then we go kill Alistair."

Sam was breathing heavy, his chest heaving. The next part was going to piss him off even more. John had to catch him by surprise too, while the fury was still burning and leaving him susceptible. John dragged Sam to him, covering his mouth, kissing him obscenely, and slowly, almost gently at first, John started the process of leaving one body for another.

By the time Sam caught on, John was more than half way in, and he grabbed tight and slammed through the opening even as Sam yanked away from the other body and fought him. John laughed as he filled him up, as Sam screamed, "No!" and fought like a demon to force John out.

It took him a few minutes to shove Sam down and stretch out inside his body, but once he had, the strength and power at his disposal was amazing. He made quick work of the rest of the power signs, and pulled the knife. In seconds, Lilith was bound and sucked into a dark void where she would eventually regain enough strength to start getting loose, but by then he would have accumulated the power he needed and she would be nothing but a nuisance.

 

 

Dean looked at the amassed tools with a tight nod. "It's a start." He had no delusions that this would be easy, that anything he could do the fucking bastard in the next room was going to be half what he deserves, or anywhere near what they needed to get the truth.

He covered the whole collection and gathered his nerve. "Don't come in there once I start."

He blew out and pushed the cart holding his holy water and salt and an assortment of knives and other sharp objects toward the door. He didn't look up, didn't acknowledge the demon, even though he could feel him with every ounce of his being. 

"Heaven, I'm in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak, and I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek..."

He didn't react, just stopped the cart outside of the devil's trap and pulled the cover off of it. It was a cheesy, dramatic move, but Alistair had pulled it on him his first day in the pit, and Dean couldn't resist the symmetry. 

Alistair laughed and still Dean ignored him, his face set as he went about making himself ready. He lifted a knife, turning it so the light hit it, then set it down. This part was mostly show. A chance for him to get the feel for the tools and for how his victim would respond, decide how to begin.

"I'm sorry. This is a very serious, very emotional situation for you. I shouldn't laugh, it's just that—I mean, are they serious? They sent _you_ to torture _me_?"

Dean put both hands on the cart and still didn't look at him. "You got one chance. One. Tell me who's killing the angels. I want a name."

"You think I'll see all your scary toys and spill my guts?"

Dean was pretty sure he wouldn't, but he swallowed down the fear and lifted a knife before turning to finally look at him. "Oh, you'll spill your guts, one way or another. I just didn't wanna ruin my shoes."

Alistair just grinned at him. "Oh, yeah. There's that Winchester wit. I missed it."

"Answer the question."

"Or what? You'll work me over?" He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "But then, maybe you don't want to. Maybe you're, ah, scared to." 

Dean swallowed and stepped a little closer. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"No, not entirely." Alistair responds. "You left part of yourself back in the Pit. I think it was in the bed your daddy fucked you on…or maybe in the bloody bits I cut off of you everyday. Let's see if we can get the two of you back together again, shall we?" Alistair rattled his chains.

There was just enough bravado in the words that Dean could tell himself it was okay, that he could actually break the bastard. He turned away. "You're gonna be disappointed."

He headed for the cart and looked everything over, trying to decide where to start.

"You have not disappointed me so far." His voice was seductive now, like when he'd be all filled with false concern in the pit. "Come on, Dean. Hurt me? You gotta want a little payback for everything I did to you. All the times I fucked you."

Dean didn't react, his eyes on the nearest bottle of holy water.

"No? Um...how about for all the times I made your daddy fuck you?"

Dean inhaled and lifted his head, ready now to give Alistair's mouth something better to do than talk.

"Oh, your daddy, Boy. He was something else. First time I got up inside of him, he screamed until I had to rip his tongue out."

"You can't stall forever." Dean said.

"John Winchester. I figured him for more, you know? His reputation, all righteous and shit. He didn't even last as long as you, you know that? No?"

"Just give me the demon's name, Alistair." Dean said.

"But he moaned like a two dollar whore when he sucked my cock. Liked it best when one of my minions was fucking his ass with some pour soul's rippled off arm."

Dean took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

"I thought I'd found the best little protégé the pit had ever seen. And once he started the cutting…" He whistled. "Such artistry with a blade, Dean. Beauty." 

Dean opened the bottle of whiskey he'd brought with him and took a deep drink.

"Oh but then Lilith brought me daddy's little girl. So pretty, so broken already. Daddy'd already fucked you up before you ever even got to hell, didn't he?"

Dean put down the bottle and decided on the first course.

"It took me a while, didn't it? But I found the trigger. I found the right combination of pain, and agony and despair…I knew that once I brought your Daddy in, you'd fold…and here you are now."

Dean set a cup on the cart and opened the bottle of holy water, pouring out enough to fill the cup.

"Now we're getting somewhere. Holy water? Come on. Grasshopper, you're gonna have to get creative to impress me."

Dean looked up then, a slow smile on his face. "You took a lot away from me down there…but you know something, Alistair? I could still dream. Even in hell. And over and over and over, you know what I dreamed? I dreamed of this moment."

He picked up a needle. "And believe me, I got a few ideas." He set the tip of the needle in the holy water and filled the needle. "I've been thinking about this for forty years. I learned from all the best teachers. All my years watching evil shit here on earth. All the shit my father put me through. All the things you did to me, said to me. Oh, yeah. I've got ideas." He smiled as he crossed the room, the syringe in hand. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Dean used his free hand to open the pants Alistair was wearing and pulled out his cock. Alistair's grin faded as Dean brought the needle down, inserting it in the small hole. He looked Alistair in the eye as he pressed the plunger.

Alistair fought to keep from screaming, but Dean won that fight pretty quickly. A shiver of pleasure ran up his spine. He liked the sound, the feeling. He crossed back to the cart and put the needle down. "You let me know if you want some more. There's plenty left."

 

 

The angels didn't seem to be too concerned about hiding where they were. He found them without hardly trying, just following the scent of Dean and Alistair.

Sam's body was a tight fit, especially with the kid fighting to get loose, and John was still running hot with the juice from Lilith. 

He could taste Dean's rage, Alistair's pain and pride all at the same time. 

"Not yet." John said as he huddled in the shadows and waited. Dean wasn't ready just yet. He would wait, and keep an eye on those meddling angels, make sure they didn't interfere. Everything had to be right for his plan to work.

 

Dean pulled a knife out from under a black cloth. He held it up, examining its edge, testing it with his thumb. Alistair laughed. 

"There's that little pig-poker. I wondered where it went."

Dean grinned and put the point in a bowl of holy water. "This isn't the knife you think it is." He focused his intent on the blade, whispered words that made the blade glow. He held it up again, then turned to Alistair. "This one is my own design."

He stepped up to Alistair, looking over his handy work. The sizzling had stopped and the flesh had gone purple-black where he could see it around the beads of the rosary wound around Alistair's dick. His chest was a mess of burns and salt-encrusted wounds, his clothes hanging shredded from his body.

"Do you really think this is gonna fix you? Give you closure? That is sad. That's really sad. Sad, sad."

Dean didn't respond, just stuck the blade into Alistair's stomach. He groaned and Dean twisted the knife. He watched as Alistair understood what the knife was doing, and while it might not kill a demon the way Ruby's knife would, this one did far more than cut flesh. It actually cut into the demon inside.

Alistair panted for a second, then lifted his head. "I carved you into a new animal, Dean. There is no going back."

Dean yanked the knife out and held it up, all bloody, with a line of inky black running through the red. "Maybe you're right. But now it's my turn to carve."

He shoved it in again, this time into his thigh, opening the flesh.

Alistair dropped his head back and screamed, shaking in the chains that held him. Dean pulled the knife out and shoved it in again. "Like that, you fucking son of a bitch?"

He yanked the knife out again and fisted his hand in Alistair's hair, pulling his head up. Blood dripped from his mouth, but Alistair was laughing. 

"Now it's your professionalism that I respect." 

Dean turned away, going back to his tools. The sound of spitting, and a splat told him that Alistair was starting to hurt. Dean put the knife down and tried to decide what came next.

He lifted a jug of holy water, the rosary still inside it and crossed back. He splashed some of it onto Alistair's face, watching it sizzle. Alistair tilted his head back and gargled as if to make light of it, but he started choking seconds later, his face showing distress before he hid it.

"Who's murdering the angels?" Dean asked, suddenly remembering he wasn't just here to take revenge on the bastard.

Alistair opened his mouth as if to say something, but choked instead. Dean threw more of the holy water at him. The flesh on his face sizzled and Dean moved closer. "Who?" 

Alistair spit out holy water and blood, then licked his lips. "You're just not getting deep enough. Well, you lack the resources. Reality is just, I don't know, too concrete up here. Honestly, Dean..." He shook his head. "This would be so much easier back in hell."

Dean nodded and walked back to the cart. He lifted an iron meat hook and dunked it into a pitcher of holy water, then rolled it in a mix of salt and various herbs so it was all crusty and dangerous looking. 

"Oh, if I remember right, this was one of your favorites, right?" He came back to Alistair. "You like to jam the point into the navel, like this." He swung and the point dug into his soft stomach. "And then you pulled sideways like this?" He yanked it to the right, ripping a good six inch gash into his stomach.

Alistair gasped and fell silent.

Dean leaned in. "Deep enough for you, fucker?" He stood up straight and brought the hook in again, resting the point on Alistair's shoulder. "How about this?" Dean hit the back of the hook, driving it into the joint, listening to it crack and Alistair howl. He left it there and went back to the cart, reaching for a container of salt and pouring some of it into a bowl.

"You have to know this was your fault Dean."

Dean glared at him. "Gimme a name or shut up."

"The whole bloody thing…all the way back to Daddy leaving to hunt Azazel. You know why he left you."

"Well, then I'll just make you shut up." Dean grabbed Alistair's chin and forced his mouth open, then slowly poured the salt into it. When half the container was gone, Dean shoved his mouth closed and held it closed, even as Alistair shook his head and tried to free himself.

Dean picked up the holy water at his feet and forced Alistair's mouth open again. "Here, lets wash it down." He poured as Alistair screamed and it came out more like a gurgle. When he let go, Alistair spit out blood and gasped. 

"Something caught in my throat. I think it's my throat."

Dean grinned. "Well, strap in, 'cause I'm just starting to have fun." His adrenaline was pumping and his cock was hard. He wanted to fuck the bastard, want to find the biggest fucking stick of something and coat it in holy water and salt and shove it the fuck up the demon's ass until it came out his throat.

"Your Daddy left you because you were too weak."

Dean ignored him and went back to his tools. 

"He died because you were too weak. Went to hell because you were too weak. And when he broke on my rack, Dean, my Boy. That was all you too." Alistair spit out more blood. "Oh, yeah…he wanted to fuck you up something awful, Dean. I told him he'd get the chance, that I'd let him carve you up and fuck your empty soul, let him do all the things he'd want to do to your whiny, dependent, little shit-self but couldn't because he was a good man…Azazel knew what he was doing when he brought me John Winchester, Dean."

Dean picked up his knife, wetting and salting the blade again. "He knew John was the one…the one to start this, the beginning of the end. And he did it for you."

"Did what for me?" Dean turned to face him.

"He said yes. He got off the rack and picked up my blade and used it to carve some screaming bitch a new hole so he could fuck it. He broke and became our weapon for breaking you."

Dean kept his face neutral to slightly pissed and moved closer. "My father is dead. That demon is just some twisted parody that doesn't even come close to the righteous man he was."

Alistair laughed until he choked and spit blood out. "Your father was no righteous man. If he was, we wouldn't have needed you."

"For what?" Dean asked, taking another drink from the bottle of whiskey.

"To break the first seal." Alistair replied, his voice dripping with delight. "Anything to please Daddy, right Dean?"

Dean shoved the blade up into his rib cage and twisted it. "You're lying."

"And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds innocent blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break." Alistair shook and had to force the words out.

Dean pulled the knife free and turned away. 

"We had to break the first seal before any others. Had her brought in special, just for you. Only way to get the dominoes to fall, right? Topple the one at the front of the line."

Dean's hands were shaking and when he looked down at them they were covered in blood. He looked up, through the window. He couldn't see Castiel, but he was out there…somewhere. He'd never told Dean it was his fault…that he'd been the one.

"When we win, when we bring on the apocalypse and burn this earth down, we'll owe it all to you, Dean Winchester."

Dean closed his eyes, his stomach twisting in knots inside him. He couldn't react, couldn't let Alistair know he'd gotten to him. It felt like the truth though, different somehow than the rest of the head games Alistair was playing.

"Believe me, son, I wouldn't lie about this. It's kind of a religious sort of thing with me."

"No. I don't think you are lying." Dean said, lifting the hand with the knife, ready to shut the bastard up. "But even if the demons do win...You won't be there to see it."

He turned, shocked to find Alistair free and outside the lines of the devil's trap. "You should talk to your plumber about the pipes." His fist landed on Dean's jaw and Dean stumbled backward, losing the knife as he fell into the cart and slid to the floor.

"My turn." Alistair said, grinning down at Dean as he cracked his neck.

Dean scrambled backward and tried to climb to his feet, only to be grabbed by Alistair and yanked back into reach. "Where do you think you're going?"

Fists curled in his shirt and lifted Dean to his feet, then off his feet. Alistair threw him down again, then straddled over him, throwing punches. Dean did his best to cover up, but he was too fast. If Dean covered his stomach, Alistair hit his face, if he protected his face, Alistair hit kidneys.

Dean rolled to his side, then got a knee under him. Alistair responded by kicking him in the gut, then the side of the head. Dean sprawled out on the floor. Darkness was moving in, his field of vision narrowing as Alistair grabbed his shirt again. "You remember how this goes, right? First I hurt you." Alistair hit him hard in the face. "Then I hurt you more." He slammed his fist into him again. "Then maybe I fuck you."

Dean was dripping blood as Alistair lifted him off the floor, grabbing Dean's throat and shoving him into the iron hex he'd been chained to. "You got a lot to learn, boy. So I'll see you back in class bright and early Monday morning."

There was a blur of motion and Alistair turned. Dean fell to the ground, the last thing he saw was Castiel stabbing Alistair.

 

John could feel it fall apart. The angel stopped his worrying and pacing and dashed into the torture room. John followed far enough behind that he wouldn't be seen right away. He needed to make sure this went his way.

"Well, almost. Looks like God is on my side today." Alistair purrs.

The angel lifted his hand and the knife protruding from Alistair's chest twisted. John can tell it hurt, but wasn't enough. Alistair pulled the knife out and threw it away before charging at the angel. 

Punches were thrown and they crashed through some old machinery. John looked to Dean, broken and unconscious on the floor, rage spilled through him, rage echoed by Sam until it was a fire burning through him.

"Well, like roaches, you celestials. Now, I really wish I knew how to kill you. But all I can do is send you back to heaven."

Alistair had the angel shoved into a wall, looking like he was going to pass out anyway as he started to chant.

John growled and lifted his hand. Alistair's words stopped and he let go of the angel, stumbling backward.

"Stupid pet tricks." Alistair grumbled, pushing himself away from the wall.

John grinned and squeezed his hand, making Alistair choke. "I'm all done being the pet." John growled.

Alistair looked at him, his eyes narrowing. "John? Is that you?"

John twisted Sam's hand and Alistair's eyes became white as he choked. "I've had about enough of you touching what belongs to me, Alistair." 

Alistair roared and tried to charge at him. John just gave it more juice. "Oh, I'm liking this…all this power…too bad your little bitch won't be around to finish your game."

"No…" Alistair thrashed and fought. "Lilith will not be caged for long, not by the likes of you."

John stopped, dropping his hand for the moment. "Maybe not…but long enough for the seals to be closed again. Long enough for the clock to reset. Long enough that my boys won't be pawns in your apocalyptic game."

Alistair laughed. "Oh, is that what this is about? Daddy misses his boys?" John lifted his hand again. Alistair held up both of his. "Oh, go ahead. Send me back, if you can. I'll only find her and set her free again."

John shook his head. "Sam's stronger than that now. He's been snacking on some upper level demons. Now he can kill."

He let the power rip through him, watching as Alistair lit up from the inside out and then finally slumped to the floor. John panted as he turned to the angel who was glaring at him from the floor where he'd fallen when Alistair had let go of him. "Pass along a message for me. No one touches my boys. No one. They belong to me."

The angel opened his mouth to say something and John backhanded him hard enough to end a mortal life. Then he crossed to Dean's limp body and he picked him up gently, carrying him out into the night.

 

_Dean shivers, seeking relief even though he knows there won't be any…there never is…not until it's almost too much, not until he's sure he can't stand it, sure he'll break…then suddenly there's a small reprieve…an hour or two of silence, a moment or two with no pain…a stretch of time when he isn't being touched, fucked, slowly broken open and pulled apart._

_"You know I had your Daddy right here…on this rack…naked and chained here…just like you are now…"_

_Dean's eyes squeeze shut, because he doesn't want to hear…doesn't want to feel that hand close around his cock, doesn't want his head filled with the images of his father where he is now, enduring this…but Alistair's voice slithers into his head, the same way his hands and lips slither over his skin._

_"He begged for mercy…" His forked tongue laps at Dean's chin as he presses his body against Dean's. "He begged me to let him come…"_

_Dean screams as Alistair fucks into him, but there is no sound, none but Alistair's voice. "He was mine, just like you will be…I fucked him, bled him, made him cry, made him scream…and when I let him come…when he gave himself to me, when he asked to serve me, I licked his tears and watched the black fill his eyes as I set him free."_

_Everything swirls around him, demons, Alistair's face, blood, come._

_"You have to know this was your fault Dean. The whole bloody thing…all the way back to Daddy leaving to hunt Azazel. You know why he left you."_

_Like a kaleidoscope. A perverse, twisted kaleidoscope spitting out an endless parade of images, and moments in a disconcerting regurgitation of torment._

_Dean shakes his head to quell the buzzing and dizzying spin until Sam holds out his hand, and Dean moves to him, like he can't not go to Sam when he calls for him. Sam's mouth is hot and tastes like smoke as he kisses Dean. "Sam?" He's breathless and uncertain…dreaming…he must be dreaming._

_"I told you he'd come." Sam says softly. His hands curl around Dean's hip possessively, guiding him between Sam and his father. Lips press to his, a tongue sliding over them until he opens his mouth, distracted by the scruff of his father's beard on his neck as his lips touch Dean's skin too._

_"Sam?"_

_"Shh…Dean." Sam kisses his eyes closed. His father's hands slide over his skin, pull him back against his naked chest, and Dean can feel that his chest isn't all that's naked._

_"Dean." His father's voice is deep, comforting and it lulls him. "My boy. My good soldier. You take care of your brother."_

_"Yes sir." Dean murmurs reflexively, not even realizing his father is guiding him to his knees. John's finger pushes into Dean's mouth, opening it as Sam steps closer._

_"Take your brother."_

_Dean pulls back as Sam's cock touches his lip, but his head only goes as far as his brother's cock. "Anything for me Dean, right?" Sam asks as he flexes his hips, his cock sliding into Dean's open mouth alongside their father's finger._

_Dean gags, but doesn't fight…can't hurt Sam. Bodies close around him as they kiss above him. This can't be real…Dean tries to remember…but there's nothing…just the falling, falling…dying…burning…_

_"That's good Dean." Sam murmurs as they pull apart. His long fingers stroke the side of Dean's face. "I knew you'd come for me…knew you'd give yourself, sacrifice yourself…it's what you do…"_

_"No…Sam…" Dean reaches for him, but he's gone and only his father remains._

_John Winchester smiles at him softly. "Shh…let me…" Tenderly he cleans Dean until he can no longer feel the wounds, the blood gone. John helps him sit, lifts him, carries him to a soft bed. "Easy, Dean."_

_They lay together in the softness, his father's body curled around his protectively. "How much more can you take?" His father's voice is small, hurt. "I hate watching you go through this."_

_Dean holds his father's hand to his chest, reveling in how safe it feels, though that too is an illusion. "What else can I do?"_

_His father kisses over his shoulders and sighs. "I held out Dean…for years…I fought like you are now…endured the unthinkable."_

_Dean can feel his father's arousal against his ass. His mouth was close to Dean's ear. "No one survives, Dean. No one outlasts him. Even now he owns you, like he owns me. He can make it hurt in ways you can't imagine, or he can make it feel so very good."_

_John shifts, rolling them enough that his cock slipped into Dean and Dean is partly on his stomach. His father's hand slips over his hip, circling around his cock. "You've never felt the kind of orgasm that comes when you surrender Dean."_

_He rocks them together. "Surrender…he'll give you to me, Dean…we can be together…we can have this…" His hand strokes Dean while his words sooth him._

_Dean closes his eyes and lets the feeling build, need, arousal, craving for this…for the respite, for the reward. "Please…Dad…"_

_"Please…" Blood drips from his lips as he pulls himself to his knees, reaching out to them, to Alistair and his father._

_Alistair turns, his fist in John's hair, pulling him off Alistair's cock and they both look at Dean. "Please…"_

_No more…he can't take any more. He drags his reaching hand back to hold the intestines spilling out of him. "Please…"_

_"Please?" Alistair stops in front of him, his cock right in Dean's face. John slides to his knees, his hands cupping to Dean's face._

_"You have to say the words, boy."_

_Dean tries to focus his eyes on his father's face, tries to force the words out of him, shame and fear and agony warring inside him until he could barely form thought. "No more."_

_John's smile starts small, but grows. He nods encouragement._

_"Please, no more." Dean's face burns with his shame. "I…I'll…do whatever you want."_

_Alistair raises an eyebrow as he considers Dean's words, then he offers his cock to Dean. It is forced, it's just there, waiting. Dean looks to his father, then back at Alistair. Slowly, he licks his lips, opens his mouth._

_In a blink there's a blade in his hand, a woman on the rack before him. The first cut is shaky and shallow, but his father nuzzles his ear and whispers to him. Alistair hovers and Dean tries again, opening her stomach with one long, slow stroke._

_"When we win, when we bring on the apocalypse and burn this earth down, we'll owe it all to you, Dean Winchester."  
_

 

Dean became aware he was yelling at about the same time he realized he was awake. He opened his eyes slowly and the room that came into focus was gray and cool. He licked his lips and turned his head, the only thing that seemed to be working.

There was an IV feeding liquids into his arm, drugs too judging by the warm, woozy feeling. He blinked and tried to make out details, but it didn't seem to be a hospital room. He was alone, for the moment.

He was mostly sitting up, propped up on piles of pillows. He shifted and groaned with the pain. His left leg was splinted and propped up on pillows too. His right hand was bandaged. His face felt swollen and tender, his left eye swollen shut.

He swallowed around the raw feeling in his throat. He remembered Uriel and Castiel grabbing him…asking him to do the unthinkable. He remembered giving in to Castiel's desperation. 

He remembered only pieces after wheeling his cart of tools into the room though. He remembered how it felt when Alistair howled in pain. He remembered the blame. He remembered Alistair getting free.

Nothing else after that was more than a blur of bloody memory. He should be dead. He should be in hell. For all he knew he was. Hell could be like this some times. He remembered that.

The door opened and bright light streamed into the room. Dean winced and turned his face away.

"Oh, sorry." Sam's voice. Sam.

Dean blinked away the spots and turned to find Sam putting food bags on the other bed. "Sorry. I didn't know you were awake."

"Sam?"

He came to the end of the bed, still more silhouette than anything. "You had me scared there, Dean."

"What happened?"

"Well…ah…" He went and grabbed a chair and pulled it up between the beds. He sat, rubbing his hands down his thighs. "I ah, I showed up about the time Alistair and Castiel were beating the shit out of each other."

Dean tried to focus on him, but he seemed off somehow, almost not real. "I pulled you out of there and we high tailed it out of town. You were unconscious a long time. Probably should have taken you to a hospital, but I wanted to get us off the grid."

"Off…" Dean squinted at him. There was something dark about him. "Where?"

"Middle of nowhere." He put a hand under the mattress and pulled out a hex bag. "Hiding. Neither side can find us here."

"Castiel…"

Sam looked away. "Last I saw he was holding his own." Sam patted his hand. "You need to worry about you, okay? Not him. We need to get you on your feet." He stood and went to the bags he'd put on the other bed. "I picked up some more pain meds for you. They should help."

"Sam, no…I want to…" But really, he wasn't sure what he wanted. Sam smiled at him, but something about the smile looked more like their father…but that didn't make sense. Their father was dead. 

Sam lifted a syringe and injected something into the IV. "There, Dean. Sleep. Everything will be better when you wake up."

 

 

_"Please…help me…"_

_Dean wonders for a moment if he had sounded so scared, so terribly frail and alone and small. This man's eyes are blue. Or they were. The body is nothing but an illusion, a means to cause pain to a soul already lost, even if it hasn't figured that out yet. He steps even closer and the ramble of words and noises quiets as Dean lets the hand not holding the meat hook glide over the man's skin, painting it with sticky red. "Shh…" Dean slides the hand up to the man's lips, letting the red cover them like make up. "Shh…What's your name?"_

_His eyes dart, from Dean to John and back, his body shudders and he knows the pain is coming, knows the wracked voice that tries to sooth him is only hours from its own screaming, knows that Dean will rip this illusion into shreds, but he stills, swallows, focuses on Dean as if somehow, some way Dean might save him, free him._

_"R-roger."_

_Dean nods. "Roger." He tests the name in his mouth. It feels strange, meaningless. He may have been Roger once, before he came to be here, but now he is just another soul in hell, whether he sold himself or lost himself it doesn't matter._

_"Roger, I'm not going to play games with you. I'm going to hurt you." Dean holds up the hook, looking at it until he feels Roger's eyes leave his and focus on the hook. "With this." Dean looks back at Roger. "I'm going to use it to pull the skin off your bones, rupture your organs, I may use it to fuck your ass. When I am done there will be nothing left of you but your voice and the illusion that you have a body, one that has been shredded and fucked." Dean leans in close. "And then, he'll make the illusion whole again and someone else will start over."_

_Dean brings the point of the hook down onto Roger's chest, traces it around his nipple. He smiles when Roger hisses and his cock fills. "You're going to like this, Roger."_

_He presses in, down, the point of the hook breaking skin just under his right nipple. Dean concentrates, drags it down, not too deep, not yet. Blood wells up, spills. He cuts down to the navel while Roger screams._

_Behind him, John's closing in, the illusion of his body pressing against Dean's. It makes the air that much hotter, as if the oppressive heat of eternal damnation isn't enough. Dean's illusion of a body responds, his cock hardening, his heart beating faster. Hands ease over his naked skin, lips traverse over his spine, up onto his neck._

_"Feels good."_

_Dean can only nod in agreement, lifting the hook to draw another bloody line over the pale, white skin. Roger screams, shaking. John reaches around Dean, his hands grasping the flaps of skin and yanking Roger open. His hands are all the hotter when they return to Dean's skin, flushed with the illusion of blood._

_Roger screams endlessly and the sound is wearing on Dean's ability to concentrate. He lifts the hook, dripping blood and gore and when Roger's mouth opens again, Dean shoves the hook in, digging it into his tongue and yanking._

_The scream grows louder, then falls away into a gurgle as the tongue rips loose and Dean drops it to the side, cocking his head to look at the bloody mess before him._

_"Not bad." John says, his mouth against the back of Dean's neck. "You're learning."_

 

The feeling of his father's presence was strong as he woke again. He could tell somehow that days had passed. The IV was gone and only the flat metal taste at the back of his mouth betrayed the drugs still burning off inside him.

He seemed incredibly improved for merely days, the splint gone, the bandages missing. He looked up to find Sam watching him. There was a smile, almost predatory, but it was gone fast. "Hey."

"Hey." Dean looked around them, almost expecting someone else to appear, Castiel or Alistair or someone who could explain the improvement of his wounds. There was just Sam though, hands in his pockets looking sheepish.

"How you feeling?" Sam asked, pacing the small distance across the end of the bed.

"Better, I guess. What'd you do."

Sam shook his head. "Me, nothing. Just. Nothing. Been waiting for you to wake up. We need to move."

"Thought you said we were off the grid." Dean mumbled, shifting. He was no where near ready for moving. He wasn't even sure he could stand.

"No, no. We are. Just….been in one place too long."

Dean sat up and Sam stopped pacing. "What are you doing?"

Dean sighed. "I gotta pee, Sam."

"Oh, yeah, right. Here." Sam pulled back the blankets and helped him onto his feet.

"Christ, Sam." Dean looked down to discover himself in adult diapers and not much else.

"What did you want me to do, let you pee the bed?" Sam replied, kicking the chair out of the way and helping Dean into the bathroom. 

"Yeah, well, get me some real clothes, would ya? I got this." Dean grabbed the sink and held himself upright while dropping the diapers. "There's something you never expect to wake up to." He shuffled to the toilet and relieved himself, leaning in to flush. He looked up into the mirror and started. His eyes were black, sunken, hollow and black. He panted and closed his eyes.

No. No. No.

It wasn't real. 

He opened his eyes and his reflection was normal. He was pale and thin, but himself. He exhaled slowly. It was okay. He was okay. He wasn't in hell. He wasn't a demon. He was okay. Everything was okay.

Alistair didn't kill him, didn't break him again. There was still a chance.

_"Your father was no righteous man. If he was, we wouldn't have needed you. To break the first seal."_

"Here." Sam stepped into the bathroom, setting down a pile of clothes. "You need help?"

Dean looked up and recoiled. "No." He put up both hands and turned, shaking his head.

"Dean?"

It was Sam's voice, Sam's hands, but the face in the mirror was the demonic face of their father. "No." Dean closed his eyes. It was a delusion. A product of the drugs. It wasn't real, and when he opened his eyes, his brother would be his brother.

Hands grabbed his shoulders. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean opened his eyes. Sam was blocking him from seeing the mirror. "Are you okay?"

"I thought…." Dean shook his head. "I'm seeing things."

"You had quite a concussion Dean. Maybe you should get back into bed."

Sam turned him and started him back into the room, but Dean stopped and gestured at the clothes. "Dude, at least the boxers." Sam turned and in the mirror Dean saw it again. He shoved Sam away and got as far as the end of the bed before he fell. "You're not Sam."

He could smell it now, demon. He panted and backed onto the bed as Sam turned around. His smile was dark, his eyes black. "Well, I was hoping it would be a while before you figured it out. I was looking forward to seducing you."

"Get out of him, you fucking bastard." Dean growled, crawling backward until he hit the headboard. 

"Now, Dean is that anyway to talk to your father?" He tilted his head. "Or your brother for that matter."

"You are not my father." Dean insisted. "My father was a good man."

He kept coming, crawling up onto the bed and reaching up to grab Dean's ankle. He pulled and Dean slid down the bed. "I own you Boy."

Dean struggled, but he was still weak, still broken enough that a few well placed fingers pressing into his skin had him rendered him unable to move, winded and afraid.

Sam's hands were hot and big as they slid up his legs and spread him open. "I was going to wait, but you smell so good, I can't wait to have some of you…it's been a while." He nuzzled the groove of Dean's hip, letting his cheek brush against Dean's cock. "Did you miss me, Dean?"

He licked a strip up Dean's stomach, one hand letting go of Dean long enough to open his jeans. He bent Dean's hips back and shoved himself into Dean's ass, no prep at all. Dean bit off the yell, closed his eyes and panted through the rush of pain, the burn in his ass, the ache in his stomach muscles. "One big happy family." Sam's voice filled his ear, but that wasn't Sam.

Dean fisted his hands in the sheets and grunted with each stroke, hoping the pain would be too much and it would push him over the edge into unconsciousness. Instead, his ass flushed with heat and his father slapped his hip as he pulled out. He dropped Dean's legs to the bed and left him there, tucking himself in and zipping up his pants. He went back to pacing almost immediately. He almost looked like he was nervous.

No, that wasn't right.

Like he needed something. He looked like a junky in need of a fix.

He went to the door and back again. Dean looked around the room for some sort of clue. There were the remnants of some sort of ritual on the table.

"What did you do?" Dean asked.

He shook his head. "You mind your own business."

"What did you do? Castiel?"

Sam-John turned to look at him. "I told you he was holding his own when I left him."

"You summoned something." Dean stood on shaking legs and pointed at the evidence. "What did you do? Alistair…"

"We killed him." John said. "Okay? Sam and I, we killed him."

"You what?"

John grinned. "Didn't know little brother had it in him? I told you Dean, Sammy's destined to go bad. Ruby showed him the way, but she was too slow, taking him slowly, leading him with her slutty seduction…the first time she bled for him she made it seem like an accident…but she knew what she was doing. It just wasn't enough."

"Bled for him?" Dean shook his head. "What does that even mean?"

"You didn't know? Sammy's been drinking from the vine…I mean, the vein. Demon blood, it's how he was juicing his powers, Dean. Makes sense, right? Demon blood is how he got them in the first place."

"Sam…Sam told me he wasn't using them anymore."

"Why do you think I had to kill Ruby? She couldn't seal the deal, couldn't get the job done. I had to do it myself. Get him to drink from the right demon, the one who could take his powers to the next level. How else was he going to kill Alistair? How else were we going to stop this fucking apocalypse shit?"

Dean sat down hard on the bed. "Wait, what?"

His father laughed. "You think I want Lucifer rising? Fuck, I know better. That asshole gets free and I'm low man on the totem pole again, instead of Alistair's right hand man. No. I'm not ready to go back to being a squashed bug. I want something more."

Dean couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. "You? You're just going to stop it. Just like that."

"I already have, Son. Once we drained her, I stashed Lilith away. No Lilith, no final seal, no Lucifer."

"Final seal?"

"Those fucking angels don't tell you two much do they?" John shook his head and opened a whiskey bottle that was on the table. "Lilith is the final seal. When Sam killed her, it was supposed to open the door and let Lucifer walk the earth once more."

He took a long drink from the bottle. "And the puzzle box we put Lilith in isn't opening anytime too soon. All we gotta do now is wait out the storm."

 

_"You can't give in." Sam says, laying next to him on the bed._

_"I'm tired Sam." Dean replies, his eyes closed._

_"I know you are. I know. But I'm fighting, I just need you to fight with me."_

_"He's too strong."_

_"He's getting weaker." Sam argues. "He didn't realize how the blood works. He didn't realize he'd need more. And there is no more."_

_Dean turns his head, looks at his brother's face. "I can't anymore. I can't."_

_"You can, Dean. You can. It's just a little longer. Just a little longer."_

_Sam is fading and Dean can do nothing but blink until he is gone._

 

His father was spooned up behind him, his cock still inside him from the last round of fucking. Dean opened his eyes in the gloom of the room. Behind him his father is moving now, his cock hard again, his hips thrusting forward.

Dean didn't move or make a sound. It was easier to just let him do it. He would anyway, and at least this way it didn't hurt as much. 

Dead eyes stare back at him from the other bed. His father had summoned some demon and bled him dry, left the lifeless body on the other bed. It was the third in three days. It wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

John came inside him, then rolled onto his back. "Castiel."

He said the name like he was testing how it would sound. "I'll bet he's looking for you."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Dean said.

"I wonder what kind of power angel blood would have."

Dean rolled onto his back and looked at his father. "What? You can't be serious."

"Deadly." John sat up, though it was Sam's expression as he looked at Dean. "You should shower."

"Why, are we going somewhere?"

John's smile was frightening. "To find us an angel."

 

"You're out of your mind." Dean said. He was barely standing, his leg throbbing, his hands trembling. 

"Just call him." John said from the shadows of the alley beside him.

"He won't come." Dean argued. "He has to know it's you in there."

"He'll come. I saw how he looked at you. He would do anything for you."

Dean leaned back on the brick wall for support. "There was a time you would have done anything for me."

His father's hand grabbed his shoulder. "I did. I died for you. What have you done for me?"

"Even if he shows, he's just going to kick your ass." Dean said, head falling back. He was so tired. 

"If he hurts me, he hurts Sam." John taunted. "Bring him, Dean."

"Castiel!" Dean called out, his father's hand digging into his arm. "Cas!"

Dean closed his eyes. His father let go and Dean turned his head away, starting to find Castiel there on his other side. Castiel held a finger to his lips and reached for Dean. Two fingers touched his forehead and they were spun away.

Dean's knees gave out as they hit pavement. Castiel caught him and held him up. "What did you do." He craned his neck to see where they were. It was clear they hadn't gone far.

"I took you from harm's way." Castiel replied with a confused look. 

"You have to put me back." Dean clutched at his arm. "Cas, now."

"I do not understand. I saved you from the demon that took you."

"That's…that demon…" he swallowed and shook his head. "He has Sam."

"I know." Castiel bowed his head. "I am sorry Dean."

"Sorry?" Dean shoved him away and started walking back toward his father and Sam. "Sorry doesn't cut it anymore, Cas."

Castiel appeared in front of him. "I was betrayed. We all were." That at least made Dean stop. "Uriel…" His face took on a distant look. "Uriel and others were working to free Lucifer. They have been dealt with."

"Dealt with?" Dean shook his head. "Never mind. I don't want to know. I want my brother back."

"Are you sure there is anything of Sam to get back?" Castiel asked softly, his eyes lifting to meet Dean's.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Your bother has been walking the edge of the cliff for a long time, Dean. He was bound to fall eventually."

"No." Dean pushed him out of the way. 

"He killed Alistair." Castiel was in front of him again.

"I know." Dean responded. "It wasn't Sam though. It was the demon. He used Sam's hoodoo, juiced him up by drinking high octane demon blood so he could kill Alistair and rescue me."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "And now he's jonesing for more and he can't get it."

Castiel nodded. "And so he sent you to call for me so that he might try mine."

Dean frowned at him. "You knew?"

"Just because I do not tell you something does not mean that I do not have that knowledge." Castiel said. "The demon that was your father desires power. His single minded devotion to the two of you and that desire has actually accomplished what garrisons of angels could not." Castiel looked him in the eye. "Not a seal has broken since he took you. Four weeks, Dean. Four weeks and the balance is already being restored."

"That son of a bitch." Dean didn't know whether to be dismayed or proud. "Do we know where Lilith is?"

Castiel shook his head. "She has not been found."

"Good. Keep it that way." Dean's strength was waning and he reached for the angel to keep from going down. "She's the last seal. She dies, Lucifer rises. Now, we gotta go get Sam."

"My orders are to bring you away." Castiel countered, lifting his fingers to send Dean fluttering off to who knew where.

Dean caught his hand. "I'm not going without my brother."

"He will kill you."

"Maybe." Dean stepped around him again and again Castiel appeared in front of him.

"I can't let you."

"You can't stop me." Dean countered.

"Dean."

"Cas."

They stared at each other for a minute. Then Castiel closed his eyes, nodding slowly. "I will come with you."

This time Dean stopped them. "He means to kill you, you know that, right?"

"It is my life to offer, Dean. I go willingly."

Castiel clearly had something up his sleeve, but Dean couldn't read his face. He had that idiotic, love face thing he did when talking about his father or heaven. Dean pointed away, to the alley where his father still lurked in Sam's body.

His eyes were black as they stepped into the alley. "You betray me, boy?"

"I just want Sam back." Dean said. "I brought you the angel."

John cocked Sam's head and turned his eyes to Castiel. "Come to save them, have you?"

Castiel shook his head. "No, John. I came to save you."

Castiel took off the trench coat and handed it to Dean, then rolled up one sleeve. "You want my blood?"

Sam's eyes were filled with greed and lust as he took a step forward. "Cas…" Dean reached for him, but he was already out of reach.

"I offer it to you, John Winchester." Dean didn't see where Castiel got the knife, but suddenly, he was cutting his arm, deep. Thick, red blood flowed down his arm. "Take it."

Something wasn't right. Castiel shouldn't be offering something like this. Not unless it was a trap. Dean took a step closer. "Sam…Sam…if you can hear me…don't…"

"Stay out of it, Dean," his father snapped, his eyes never leaving Castiel. He licked his lips and grabbed the arm, dragging the angel closer. Castiel looked at Dean as John licked up the blood that had spilled over skin, savoring it for a moment before closing his mouth over the wound.

Dean jumped at them, but Castiel held up his other hand, stopping him…stopping everything but Sam's mouth on his arm. Light began to pour out of the wound, out of Castiel's mouth and eyes.

"Cas…what…" 

The light flowed into Sam with the blood, but he didn't stop drinking. Castiel's knees buckled and John followed him to the ground, until he was straddling the fallen angel, drinking deep.

Light flooded the alley. The ground shook. Dean fell to his knees beside them. Castiel looked at him, a small smile on his face as if everything was okay as he lay dying in a dirty alley.

Sam's head lifted, blood smeared across his face, light dancing over his skin. He roared, the sound bouncing and echoing off the walls, growing in volume until Dean had to cover his ears, curling forward over Castiel's body. 

There was a blast from beneath him, a shockwave that blew him backward and dropped him into the dark.

 

Sam sat up slowly, trying to identify the aches in his joints and back, the ringing in his ears. He was in a field, surrounded by wheat. He was alone inside his body. His father's presence gone. He did a quick check to make sure he wasn't injured, then climbed to his feet.

Over the wheat, he could see a house.

With nothing better in mind, he headed down the row toward the house.

He remembered bits of what his father had done while inside him. Other parts were a blur. He remembered Dean. He remembered what he'd done to Dean. He closed his eyes and pushed the thought away. 

He vaguely remembered something to do with Castiel.

He emerged from the field to find Dean laying in the grass. "Dean?"

Sam knelt beside him and checked his pulse. He was alive. Sam felt over him for injuries, and as he reached Dean's legs, Dean coughed and sat up. "Sam?"

He looked at his brother and nodded. "Yeah, it's me."

"Christo." Dean growled.

Sam nodded. "Fair enough. It's me."

"Dad?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"Cas?"

Sam shook his head, looking around them. "I don't know that either."

"Where the hell are we?"

"I don't know…Kansas maybe?" He hitched his thumb back at the wheat field. 

"I'm fucking tired of this shit." Dean held up his hand and Sam took it, helping him up. They both stood and surveyed their surroundings. 

"How you feel?" Sam asked, pointedly not looking at him.

"I'll live. You?"

"Like I got run over with a tractor." Sam said. "What happened?"

Dean rubbed at his face and moved to the picnic table, easing himself down onto the bench. "You don't remember?"

Sam shrugged. "Not really. I was fighting like hell to get control back. I…" He shook his head.

"How did he…" Dean gestured at him.

"He tricked me. Came to me with an idea to get you back." Sam exhaled. "I should have known." He looked around them. "Anyway, once he was in, it was all I could do to keep fighting to push him out. Then there was this kind of pain and bright light…the next thing I know I'm waking up out there in the field.

"He was…" Dean looked away. "Fucking insane. He couldn't drink enough demon blood to keep from shaking. Decided he needed to drink an angel instead."

"Castiel?"

Dean nodded and scratched at his head. "I tried to talk him out of it, but you know Castiel once he has an idea."

"Wait. Castiel gave himself up?"

"Damnedest thing I ever saw." Dean said. "Although how we end up here is beyond me."

"Well, maybe whoever lives here knows more?" It was a long shot, but the angel seldom sent them somewhere for no reason. Dean stood and shrugged.

"What else we got to do?" 

They headed for the house, rounding the side yard and stopping. The impala sat in the driveway, shiny and clean. "What the…" Dean crossed to her, running a reverent hand over her hood. "Now tell me why he sends us to fucking Kansas while he's dying and remembers to send the car too?"

"Maybe he wasn't dying?" Sam asked, looking up at the house. "Maybe…" He sighed and shook his head yet again. "I don't know. I've got nothing."

 

John stood in the window, looking down at the car and his sons. Tears streamed down his face unchecked. His stomach clenched around the memories of the things he'd done.

Behind him, the angel put a hand on his shoulder. "John."

He turned, wiping his face. "No…I can't."

Castiel offered him a benevolent smile. "The memory will fade with time, for all of you."

"There is nothing I can do…" It was too big, too much…and he knew it. He glanced back out the window. "I don't deserve this."

Castiel's hand was gentle as it touched his cheek. "That is the way of grace, John. It is undeserved, unearned. It is a gift that is given."

John shook his head, crossing his arms over his stomach to hold himself. "After all that I did, what I became….how…?"

Castiel moved toward the window. "Already Sam has begun to forget. Dean will take a little longer. The memories of hell are difficult to expunge completely. They will linger for you both…but one day you will wake to find that you are only the man who belongs here, with his two sons. Just as they will be the sons who belong here, in this life."

"I tried to kill you." John said, his eyes skimming over the angel's face.

"It is not so easy to kill an angel of the lord, John." He put a hand on John's shoulder and nodded. "This is your second chance. Use it wisely."

He was gone before John could form words, leaving him alone with his two boys. Two boys he had done horrific things to…and now, somehow, had to make it right.

 

Dean caught movement in the window above and smacked Sam's shoulder, pointing. It was gone just as fast. "Still think we're going to find answers inside?" he asked Sam.

"More than standing here." Sam replied, leading the way.

They headed up the porch steps and knocked on the door. When no one answered, Sam tried the knob. The door opened and Sam stepped in. Sam turned to look at him, smiling. "Hey, you hungry?"

"What?" Sam looked at him like he was crazy. Dean stepped in the door and froze. Something changed. Everything changed, but he couldn't place how or what exactly. He closed the door. "Yeah, I could eat."

He turned to the living room, the shelves lined with books and pictures. "See if there's any more beer in the fridge too, would ya?" He frowned. He shouldn't know that there was beer in the fridge. Or that the door next to the stairs went to the basement. Or that this house used to belong to his grandfather.

"Sam?" Sam came from the kitchen with two bottles of beer and a plate of leftovers. "Something weird going on?" 

Sam handed him a beer and shook his head. "Game's on in five, we watching?"

Dean took a sip and nodded, sinking onto the couch.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs made them both look up. "Hey, Dad. Game's on." Sam called.

Dean stood up, his eyes meeting his father's. There was pain in the dark depths, shame. It was an echo of something he was feeling too and he put his beer down, stepping closer.

"I'll be there in a minute, Sam." John said, nodding at the question on Dean's face. 

Dean followed him into the kitchen. "What the fuck is going on?" Dean asked, dizzy with the conflicting memories in his head.

"Castiel…" John's voice choked and he exhaled. "He said it was our…second chance."

"Our what?" Dean didn't believe that. 

John stared out the window over the sink. "I'm starting to remember things that never happened, Dean. A life I never had."

"Yeah, I get that. It's a fucking mess in my head too."

"He said we'd forget. Eventually."

"Forget? I'm supposed to forget going to hell? I'm supposed to forget what happened to me, what I did?"

His father pinned him with his eyes. "You aren't alone there Dean, and I promise you, in comparison, you're a saint." He looked away. "I can't even imagine making amends for the things I did to you…let alone all of the others."

Dean watched his father's shoulders slump. "And yet, that field out there is mine. And your brother is graduating from law school this year."

"Guys! Game's starting."

Dean looked to his father. "What are we supposed to do now?" Dean asked.

"Live, I suppose." John responded.

Dean blinked and nodded. "Live." Like it was just that easy. "How?"

John sighed and went to the refrigerator to pull out a beer. "One day at a time?"

It was too much to ask for. Dean turned away. A voice in his head told him he hadn't asked for anything. He half expected to see Castiel appear, but it was just Sam, coming up the hall. "You hear me?"

Dean turned to Sam, a smile on his face. "Dude, be right there."

Sam grinned and slapped his shoulder. "You're the one with money riding on it, not me."

He nodded, he had a two hundred dollar bet on the game with Mikey down at the shop. Where he worked. 

"Save me a seat." John said as he and Sam headed for the living room again. 

As Dean settled onto the couch and picked up his beer, he exhaled and let go a little. Even if this was just an illusion, it felt good. It felt right. Sam grinned at him and Dean grinned back. 

This was their life. It was normal. It was safe. The only hunting they did was deer and other game. The only demons were the ones that would haunt their dreams in the months to come. 

John joined them, sitting in the old armchair. His eyes met Dean's, then skipped away to the television. The message was clear. Let go.

Dean sent a silent prayer of thanks after the angel whose name was a whisper he couldn't capture. Sam and his father yelled and pulled his attention back to the game. Dean smiled and lifted his beer. It was good to be home.


End file.
